(LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF 
CALIFORNIA 
SAN  DIEGO 


1 


COLONEL   CARTER'S 
CHRISTMAS 


THE  ROMANCE   OF   AN 

OLD-FASHIONED 

GENTLEMAN 


Katy  dropped  her  head  on  his  shoulder  again. 


COLONEL    CARTER'S 
CHRISTMAS 


THE   ROMANCE  OF   AN 

OLD-FASHIONED 

GENTLEMAN 


BY 

F.   HOPKINSON  SMITH 


ILLUSTRATED  E\ 

F.  C.  YOHN  and  A.  I.  KELLER 


CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 
NEW  YORK:::::::::::::::::::::1911 


COLONEL  CARTER'S  CHRISTMAS 

COPYRIGHT,  1903,  BY 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  AN  OLD-FASHIONED 
GENTLEMAN 

COPYRIGHT,  1907,  BY 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


To  my  Readers: 

It  will  be  remembered,  doubtless,  that  the  chronicles 
of  my  very  dear  friend,  Colonel  Carter  (published 
some  years  ago),  make  mention  of  but  one  festival  of 
importance — a  dinner  given  at  Carter  Hall,  near 
Cartersville,  Virginia;  the  Colonel's  ancestral  home. 
This  dinner,  as  you  already  know,  was  to  celebrate 
two  important  events — the  sale  to  the  English  syndi 
cate  of  the  coal  lands,  the  exclusive  property  of  the 
Colonel's  beloved  aunt,  Miss  Nancy  Carter;  and  the 
instantaneous  transfer  by  that  generous  woman  of  all 
the  purchase  money  to  the  Colonel's  slender  bank 
account:  a  transaction  which,  to  quote  his  own  words 
as  he  gallantly  drank  her  health  in  acknowledgment 
of  the  gift,  "enabled  him  to  provide  for  one  of  the 
loveliest  of  her  sex — she  who  graces  our  boa'd — and 
to  enrich  her  declining  days  not  only  with  all  the 
comforts,  but  with  many  of  the  luxuries  she  was 
bawn  to  enjoy." 

Several  other  festivals,  however,  did  take  place:  not 
in  the  days  of  the  dear  Colonel's  prosperity,  nor  yet  at 
Carter  Hall,  but  in  his  impecunious  days  in  New  York, 
while  he  was  still  living  in  the  little  house  on  Bedford 


TO  MY  READERS 

Place  within  a  stone's  throw  of  the  tall  clock-tower 
of  Jefferson  Market.  This  house,  you  will  recall, 
sat  back  from  the  street  behind  a  larger  and  more 
modern  dwelling,  its  only  outlet  to  the  main  thorough 
fare  being  through  a  narrow,  grewsome  tunnel, 
lighted  during  the  day  by  a  half-moon  sawed  out  in 
the  swinging  gate  which  marked  its  street  entrance 
and  illumined  at  night  by  a  rusty  lantern  writh  dingy 
glass  sides. 

All  reference  to  one  of  these  festivals — a  particular 
and  most  important  festival — was  omitted,  much  to 
my  regret,  from  my  published  chronicles,  owing  to  the 
express  commands  of  the  Colonel  himself:  commands 
issued  not  only  out  of  consideration  for  the  feelings  of 
one  of  the  participants — a  man  who  had  been  chal 
lenged  by  him  to  mortal  duel,  and  therefore  his 
enemy — but  because  on  that  joyous  occasion  this 
same  offender  was  his  guest,  and  so  protected  by  his 
hospitality. 

This  man  was  no  less  a  person  than  the  eminent 
financier,  Mr.  P.  A.  Klutchem,  of  Klutchem,  Skinham 
&  Co.,  who,  you  will  remember,  had  in  an  open  office 
and  in  the  presence  of  many  mutual  friends,  denounced 
in  unmeasured  terms  the  Cartersville  &  Warrentown 
Air  Line  Railroad — an  enterprise  to  which  the  Vir 
ginian  had  lent  his  name  and  which,  with  the  help  of 
his  friend  Mr.  Fitzpatrick,  he  was  then  trying  to 
finance.  Not  content  with  thus  slandering  the  road 
itself,  characterizing  it  as  "beginning  nowhere  and 

vi 


TO   MY   READERS 

ending  nowhere,"  Mr.  Klutchem  had  even  gone  so  far 
as  to  attack  the  good  name  of  its  securities,  known  as 
the  "Garden  Spot"  Bonds,  and  to  state  boldly  that 
he  would  not  "give  a  yellow  dog"  for  "enough  of  'em 
to  paper  a  church."  The  Colonel's  immediate  resent 
ment  of  this  insult;  his  prompt  challenge  to  Mr. 
Klutchem  to  meet  him  in  mortal  duel;  Mr.  Klutch- 
em's  refusal  and  the  events  which  followed,  are  too 
well  known  to  you  to  need  further  reference  here. 

The  death  of  this  Mr.  Klutchem  some  years  ago 
decided  me  again  to  seek  the  Colonel's  permission  to 
lay  before  my  readers  a  succinct  account,  first  of 
what  led  up  to  this  most  important  celebration,  and 
then  some  of  the  details  of  the  celebration  itself — one 
of  the  most  delightful,  if  not  the  most  delightful,  of 
all  the  many  delightful  festivals  held  in  the  Colonel's 
cosy  quarters  on  Bedford  Place. 

My  communication  drew  from  Colonel  Carter  the 
following  characteristic  letter: 

CARTER  HALL,  CARTERSVILLE,  VA., 
MY  DEAR  MAJOR: 

I  have  your  very  kind  and  welcome  letter,  and  am  greatly 
impressed  by  the  views  you  hold.  I  was  averse  at  the  time  to 
any  reference  being  made  to  the  matter  to  which  you  so  kindly 
refer,  for  the  reason  that  some  men  are  often  more  sensitive  over 
their  virtues  than  they  are  over  their  faults. 

Mr.  Klutchem's  death,  of  course,  completely  alters  the  situa 
tion,  and  you  can  make  what  use  you  please  of  the  incidents. 
In  this  decision  I  have  been  helped  by  my  dear  Fitz,  who  spent 

vii 


TO   MY   READERS 

last  Sunday  with  us  on  his  way  South  to  investigate  a  financial 
matter  of  enormous  magnitude  and  which  only  a  giant  intellect 
like  his  own  can  grasp.  Fitz's  only  fear — I  quote  his  exact  words, 
my  dear  Major, — is  that  "you  will  let  Klutchem  down  easy  instead 
of  roasting  him  alive  as  he  deserves,"  but  then  you  must  not 
mind  Fitz,  for  he  always  uses  intemperate  language  when  speak 
ing  of  this  gentleman. 

Your  room  is  always  ready  for  you,  and  if  you  will  run  down 
to  us  now,  we  can  smother  you  in  roses.  Chad  is  over  his  cold, 
but  the  old  man  seems  feeble  at  times.  Aunt  Nancy  is  out  in 
her  coach  paying  some  visits,  and  doesn't  know  I  am  writing  or 
she  would  certainly  send  you  her  love. 

I  thanked  you,  did  I  not,  for  all  your  kindness  about  the 
double  sets  of  harness?  But  I  must  tell  you  again  how  well  the 
leaders  look  in  them.  The  two  sorrels  are  particularly  splendid. 
Go  into  Wood's  some  day  this  week  and  write  me  what  you 
think  of  a  carriage  he  has  just  built  for  me, — a  small  affair  in 
which  Aunt  Nancy  can  drive  to  Warrentown,  or  I  can  send  to 
the  depot  for  a  friend. 

All  my  heart  to  you,  my  dear  Major.  An  open  hand  and  a 
warm  welcome  is  always  yours  at  Carter  Hall. 

Your  ever  obedient  servant  and  honored  friend, 

GEORGE  FAIRFAX  CARTER. 

With  the  Colonel's  permission,  then,  I  am  privileged 
to  usher  you  into  his  cosy  dining-room  in  Bedford 
Place,  there  to  enjoy  the  Virginian's  rare  hospitality. 

F.  HOPKINSON  SMITH. 

September  30,  1903. 


Vlll 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

Katy  dropped  her  head  on  his  shoulder  again        Frontispiece 


FACING 

PAGE 


"  Take  them  upstairs  and  put  them  on  my  dressin' '-table"       4 

Each  guest  had  a  candle  alight 84 

And  so  the  picture  was  begun 104 

" Promise  me  that  you  will  stop  the  whole  business"     .     .172 
"It  is  all  her  doing,  Phil" 205 


COLONEL    CARTER'S 
CHRISTMAS 


COLONEL  CARTER'S 
CHRISTMAS 


"What  am  I  gwine  to  do  wid  dese  yere  barkers, 
Colonel?"  asked  Chad,  picking  up  his  master's  case 
of  duelling  pistols  from  the  mantel.  "  I  ain't  tetched 
der  moufs  since  I  iled  'em  up  for  dat  Klutchem  man." 

"  Take  them  upstairs,  Chad,  and  put  them  away," 
answered  the  Colonel  with  an  indignant  wave  of  the 
hand. 

"No  chance  o'  pickin'  him,  I  s'pose?  Done  got 
away  fo'  sho,  ain't  he?" 

The  Colonel  nodded  his  head  and  kept  on  looking 
into  the  fire.  The  subject  was  evidently  an  unpleasant 
one. 

"Couldn't  Major  Yancey  an'  de  Jedge  do  nuffin?" 
persisted  the  old  servant,  lifting  one  of  the  pistols  from 
the  case  and  squinting  into  its  polished  barrel. 

"Eve'y thing  that  a  gentleman  could  do  was  done, 
Chad.  You  are  aware  of  that,  Major  ?  "  and  he  turned 
his  head  towards  me — the  Colonel  will  insist  on  calling 
me  "Major."  "But  I  am  not  done  with  him.  yet, 
Chad.  The  next  time  I  meet  him  I  shall  lay  my  cane 

3 


COLONEL  CARTER'S  CHRISTMAS 

over  his  back.  Take  them  upstairs  and  put  them  on 
my  dressin'  table.  We'll  keep  them  for  some  gentle 
man  at  home." 

The  Colonel  arose  from  his  chair,  picked  up  the 
decanter,  poured  out  a  glass  for  me  and  one  for  himself, 
replenished  his  long  clay  pipe  from  a  box  of  tobacco 
within  reach  of  his  hand  and  resumed  his  seat  again. 
Mention  of  Mr.  Klutchem's  name  produced  a  form  of 
restlessness  in  my  host  which  took  all  his  self-control 
to  overcome. 

" — And,  Chad,"  The  old  darky  had  now  reached 
the  door  opening  into  the  narrow  hall,  the  case  of 
pistols  in  his  hand. 

"Yes,  sah." 

"I  think  you  have  a  right  to  know,  Chad,  why  I 
did  not  meet  Mr.  Klutchem  in  the  open  field." 

Chad  bent  his  head  in  attention.  This  had  really 
been  the  one  thing  of  all  others  about  which  this  in 
valuable  servant  had  been  most  disturbed.  Before 
this  it  had  been  a  word,  a  blow,  and  an  exchange  of 
shots  at  daybreak  in  all  the  Colonel's  affairs — all  that 
Chad  had  attended — and  yet  a  week  or  more  had  now 
elapsed  since  this  worthy  darky  had  moulded  some 
extra  bullets  for  these  same  dogs  "wid  der  moufs 
open,"  and  until  to-night  the  case  had  never  even  left 
its  place  on  the  mantel. 

"I  was  disposed,  Chad,"  the  Colonel  continued, 
"  to  overlook  Mr.  Klutchem's  gross  insult  after  a  talk 
I  had  with  Mr.  Fitzpatrick,  and  I  went  all  the  way  to 
the  scoundrel's  house  to  tell  him  so.  I  found  him  in 

4 


"  Take  them  upstairs  and  put  them  on  my  dressin'  table." 


COLONEL  CARTER'S  CHRISTMAS 

his  chair  suffe'in'  from  an  attack  of  gout.  I  had  my 
caa'idge  outside,  and  offe'ed  in  the  most  co'teous  way 
to  conduct  him  to  it  and  drive  him  to  my  office,  where 
a  number  of  his  friends  and  mine  were  assembled  in 
order  that  the  apology  I  p'posed  might  be  as  impres 
sive  as  the  challenge  I  sent.  He  refused,  Chad,  in  the 
most  insolent  manner,  and  I  left  him  with  the  remark 
that  I  should  lay  my  cane  over  his  shoulders  whenever 
I  met  him;  and  I  shall." 

"Well,  befo'  Gawd,  I  knowed  sumpin'  had  been 
gwine  on  pretty  hot,  for  I  never  seed  you  so  b'ilin'  as 
when  you  come  home,  Colonel,"  replied  the  old  ser 
vant,  bowing  low  at  the  mark  of  his  master's  confi 
dence.  "I  spec',  though,  I'd  better  put  a  couple  o' 
corks  in  der  moufs  so  we  kin  hab  'em  ready  if  anythin' 
comes  out  o'  dis  yere  caanin'  business.  I've  seen  'em 
put  away  befo'  in  my  time,"  he  added  in  a  louder  voice, 
looking  towards  me  as  if  to  include  me  in  his  declara 
tion;  "but  they  allus  hab  to  come  for  'em  agin,  when 
dey  get  to  caanin'  one  another."  And  he  patted  the 
box  meaningly  and  left  the  room. 

The  Colonel  again  turned  to  me. 

"I  have  vehy  few  secrets  from  Chad,  Major,  and 
none  of  this  kind.  By  the  way,  I  suppose  that  yaller 
dog  has  gotten  over  his  gout  by  this  time." 

"  Don't  call  him  names,  Colonel.  He  will  write  his 
own  for  a  million  if  he  goes  on.  I  was  in  Fitz's  office 
this  morning,  and  I  hear  that  Klutchem  and  his  Bos 
ton  crowd  have  got  about  every  share  of  Consolidated 
Smelting  issued,  and  the  boys  are  climbing  for  it. 

5 


COLONEL  CARTER'S  CHRISTMAS 

Fitz  told  me  it  went  up  fifteen  points  in  an  hour.  By 
the  by,  Fitz  is  coming  up  to-night." 

"I  am  not  surprised,  suh, — I  am  not  surprised  at 
anything  these  Yankees  do.  A  man  who  could  not 
appreciate  a  gentleman's  feelin's  placed  as  I  was  would 
never  feel  for  a  creditor,  suh.  He  thinks  of  nothin' 
but  money  and  what  it  buys  him,  and  it  buys  him 
nothin'  but  vulgaarity,  suh." 

The  Colonel  was  in  the  saddle  now;  I  never  inter 
rupt  him  in  one  of  these  moods.  He  had  risen  from 
his  chair  and  was  standing  on  the  mat  before  the  fire 
in  his  favorite  attitude,  thumbs  in  his  armholes,  his 
threadbare,  well-brushed  coat  thrown  wide. 

"They've  about  ruined  our  country,  suh,  these 
money-grubbers.  I  saw  the  workin'  of  one  of  their 
damnable  schemes  only  a  year  or  so  ago,  in  my  own 
town  of  Caartersville.  Some  Nawthern  men  came 
down  there,  suh,  and  started  a  Bank.  Their  plan  was 
to  start  a  haalf  dozen  mo'  of  them  over  the  County, 
and  so  they  called  this  one  the  Fust  National.  They 
never  started  a  second,  suh.  Our  people  wouldn't 
permit  it,  and  befo'  I  get  through  you'll  find  out  why. 
They  began  by  hirin'  a  buildin'  and  movin'  in  an  iron 
safe  about  as  big  as  a  hen-coop.  Then  they  sent  out 
a  circular  addressed  to  our  prominent  citizens  which 
was  a  model  of  style,  and  couched  in  the  most  co'teous 
terms,  but  which,  suh,  was  nothin'  mo'  than  a  trap. 
I  got  one  and  I  can  speak  by  the  book.  It  began  by 
sayin'  that  eve'y  accommodation  would  be  granted  to 
its  customers,  and  ended  by  offerin'  money  at  the  low- 

6 


est  rates  of  interest  possible.  This  occurred,  suh,  at 
a  time  of  great  financial  depression  with  us,  following 
as  it  did  the  close  of  hostilities,  and  their  offer  was 
gladly  accepted.  It  was  the  fust  indication  any  of  us 
had  seen  on  the  part  of  any  Yankee  to  bridge  over  the 
bloody  chasm,  and  we  took  them  at  their  word.  We 
put  in  what  money  we  had,  and  several  members  of 
our  oldest  families,  in  order  to  give  chaaracter  to  the 
enterprise,  had  their  personal  notes  discounted  and 
used  the  money  they  got  for  them  for  various  private 
purposes — signin'  as  a  gaarantee  of  their  good  faith 
whatever  papers  the  bank  people  requi'ed  of  them. 
Now,  suh,  what  do  you  think  happened — not  to  me, 
for  I  was  not  in  need  of  financial  assistance  at  the  time, 
Aunt  Nancy  havin'  come  into  possession  of  some  funds 
of  her  own  in  Baltimo', — but  to  one  of  my  personal 
friends,  Colonel  Powhatan  Tabb,  a  near  neighbor  of 
mine  and  a  gentleman  of  the  highest  standin'?  Be 
cause,  suh" — here  the  Colonel  spoke  with  great  de 
liberation — "  his  notes  had  not  been  paid  on  the  vehy 
day  and  hour — a  thing  which  would  have  greatly  in 
convenienced  him — Colonel  Tabb  found  a  sheriff  in 
charge  of  his  home  one  mornin'  and  a  red  flag  hangin' 
from  his  po'ch.  Of  co'se,  suh,  he  demanded  an  ex 
planation  of  the  outrage,  and  some  words  followed  of  a 
blasphemous  nature  which  I  shall  not  repeat.  I  shall 
never  forget  my  feelin's,  suh,  as  I  stood  by  and  wit 
nessed  that  outrage.  Old  family  plate  that  had  been 
in  the  Tabb  family  for  mo'  than  a  century  was  knocked 
down  to  anybody  who  would  buy;  and  befo'  night,  suh, 

7 


COLONEL  CARTER'S  CHRISTMAS 

my  friend  was  stripped  of  about  everything  he  owned 
in  the  world.  Nothin'  escaped,  suh,  not  even  the  po'- 
traits  of  his  ancestors!" 

"What  became  of  the  bank,  Colonel?"  I  asked  in 
as  serious  a  tone  as  I  could  command. 

"What  became  of  it?  W7hat  could  become  of  it, 
Major  ?  Our  people  were  aroused,  suh,  and  took  the 
law  into  their  own  hands,  and  the  last  I  saw  of  it,  suh, 
the  hen-coop  of  a  safe  was  standin'  in  the  midst  of  a 
heap  of  smokin'  ashes.  I  heard  that  the  Bank  people 
broke  it  open  with  a  sledge-hammer  when  it  cooled  off, 
put  the  money  they  had  stolen  from  our  people  in  a 
black  caarpet-bag,  and  escaped.  Such  pi'acies,  suh, 
are  not  only  cruel  but  vulgaar.  Mr.  Klutchem's  rob- 
ries  are  quite  in  line  with  these  men.  He  takes  you 
by  the  throat  in  another  way,  but  he  strangles  you  all 
the  same." 

The  Colonel  stroked  his  goatee  in  a  meditative  way, 
reached  over  my  chair,  picked  up  his  half-emptied 
wine-glass,  sipped  its  contents  absent-mindedly  and 
said  in  an  apologetic  tone: 

"  Forgive  me,  Major,  for  mentionin'  Mr.  Klutchem's 
name,  I  have  no  right  to  speak  of  him  in  this  way  be 
hind  his  back.  I  promise  you,  suh,  that  it  will  not 
occur  again." 

As  the  Colonel  ceased  I  caught  sight  of  Fitz's  round, 
good-natured  face,  ruddy  with  the  cold  of  the  snowy 
December  night,  his  shoe-button  eyes  sparkling  be 
hind  his  big-bowed  spectacles  peering  around  the  edge 
of  the  open  door.  Chad  had  heard  his  well-known 

8 


COLONEL  CARTER'S  CHRISTMAS 

brisk  tread  as  he  mounted  the  steps  and  had  let  him  in 
before  he  could  knock. 

"Who  are  you  going  to  kill  now?"  we  heard  Fitz 
ask  the  old  darky. 

"Dey  was  iled  up  for  dat  Klutchem  man,  but  he 
done  slid,  the  Colonel  says." 

"Klutchem!  Klutchem! — nothing  but  Klutchem. 
I  don't  seem  to  get  rid  of  him  down  town  or  up,"  Fitz 
blurted  out  as  he  entered  the  room. 

The  Colonel  had  bounded  forward  at  the  first  sound 
of  Fitz's  voice,  and  had  him  now  by  both  hands.  In 
another  minute  he  had  slipped  off  Fitz's  wet  overcoat 
and  was  forcing  him  into  a  chair  beside  my  own,  call 
ing  to  Chad  in  the  meanwhile  to  run  for  hot  water  as 
quick  as  his  legs  could  carry  him,  as  Mr.  Fitzpatrick 
was  frozen  stiff  and  must  have  a  hot  toddy  before  he 
could  draw  another  breath. 

"Keep  still,  Fitz,  don't  move.  I'll  be  back  in  a 
minute,"  the  Colonel  cried,  and  off  he  went  to  the  side 
board  for  the  ingredients — a  decanter  of  whiskey,  the 
sugar-bowl,  and  a  nutmeg-grater,  all  of  which  he  placed 
on  the  mantel  over  Fitz's  head. 

The  toddy  made  with  the  help  of  Chad's  hot  water, 
the  Colonel  moved  his  chair  so  that  as  he  talked  he 
could  get  his  hand  on  Fitz's  knee  and  said: 

"  What  were  you  doing  out  in  the  cold  hall  talkin' 
to  Chad,  anyhow,  you  dear  boy,  with  this  fire  burnin' 
and  my  hands  itchin'  for  you?" 

"  Dodging  Chad's  guns.  Got  that  same  old  arsenal 
with  him,  I  see,"  Fitz  answered,  edging  his  chair 

9 


COLONEL  CARTER'S  CHRISTMAS 

nearer  the  fire  and  stretching  out  his  hands  to  the  blaze. 
"Pity  you  didn't  fill  Klutchem  full  of  lead  when  you 
had  the  chance,  Colonel.  It  would  have  saved  some 
of  us  a  lot  of  trouble.  He's  got  the  Street  by  the  neck 
and  is  shaking  the  life  out  of  it." 

"How  was  it  when  you  left,  Fitz?"  I  asked  in  an 
undertone. 

"Looked  pretty  ugly.  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  the 
stock  opened  at  60  in  the  morning." 

"Have  you  covered  your  shorts  yet?"  I  continued 
in  a  whisper. 

"  Not  yet."  Here  Fitz  leaned  over  and  said  to  me 
behind  his  hand :  "  Not  a  word  of  all  this  now  to  the 
Colonel.  Only  worry  him,  and  he  can't  do  any  good." 

"By  the  by,  Colonel" — here  Fitz  straightened  up, 
and  with  a  tone  in  his  voice  as  if  what  he  really  wanted 
to  talk  about  was  now  on  the  end  of  his  tongue  said: 
"  is  Aunt  Nancy  coming  for  Christmas  ?  Chad  thinks 
she  is." 

The  Colonel,  who  had  noticed  the  confidential  aside, 
did  not  reply  for  a  moment.  Then  he  remarked,  with 
a  light  trace  of  impatience  in  his  voice: 

"If  you  have  unloaded  all  the  caares  of  yo'  office, 
Fitz,  I  will  answer  yo'  question,  but  I  cannot  soil  the 
dear  lady's  name  by  bringin'  it  into  any  conversation 
in  which  that  man  has  a  part.  There  are  some  sub 
jects  no  gentleman  should  discuss;  Mr.  Klutchem's 
affairs  is  one  of  them.  I  have  already  expressed  my 
opinion  of  him  both  to  the  Major  and  to  Chad  and  I 
have  promised  them  both  that  that  scoundrel's  name 

10 


COLONEL  CARTER'S  CHRISTMAS 

shall  never  again  pass  my  lips.  Oblige  me  by  never 
mentionin5  it.  Forgive  me,  Fitz.  There's  my  hand. 
You  know  I  love  you  too  well  for  you  to  think  that  I 
say  this  in  anythin'  but  kindness.  Let  me  put  a  little 
mo'  whiskey  in  that  toddy,  Fitz — it  lacks  color.  So — 
that's  better.  Aunt  Nancy  did  you  ask  about,  my 
clear  Fitz? — of  co'se,  she's  comin'.  And,  Major, — 
did  I  tell  you" — here  the  Colonel  turned  to  me — "  that 
she's  going  to  bring  a  servant  with  her  this  time  ?  The 
dear  woman  is  gettin'  too  old  to  travel  alone,  and  since 
Chad  has  been  with  me  she  has  felt  the  need  of  some 
one  to  wait  upon  her.  She  has  passed  some  weeks  or 
mo'  in  Richmond,  she  writes,  and  has  greatly  enjoyed 
the  change.  Make  no  engagement  for  Christmas, 
either  one  of  you.  That  loveliest  of  women,  suh,  will 
grace  our  boa'd,  and  it  is  her  special  wish  that  both 
of  you  be  present." 

Fitz  crushed  the  sugar  in  his  glass,  remarked  that 
there  was  not  the  slightest  doubt  of  his  being  present, 
winked  at  me  appreciatingly  over  the  edge  of  the  tum 
bler,  rubbed  his  paunch  slowly  with  one  hand,  and  with 
eyes  upcast  took  another  sip  of  the  mixture. 

The  Virginian  to  Fitz  was  a  never-ending  well  of 
pleasure.  The  Colonel's  generosity,  his  almost  Quix 
otic  sense  of  honor,  his  loyalty  to  his  friends,  his  tender 
ness  over  Chad  and  his  reverence  and  love  for  that  dear 
Aunt — who  had  furnished  him  really  with  all  the  ready 
money  he  had  spent  for  years,  and  who  was  at  the  mo 
ment  caring  for  the  old  place  at  Cartersville  while  the 
Colonel  was  in  New  York  endeavoring  to  float,  through 

11 


COLONEL  CARTER'S  CHRISTMAS 

Fitz,  the  bonds  of  the  Cartersville  &  Warrentown 
Railroad — excited  not  only  Fitz's  admiration  and  love, 
but  afforded  the  broker  the  pleasantest  of  contrasts  to 
the  life  he  led  in  the  Street,  a  contrast  so  delightful 
that  Fitz  seldom  missed  at  least  an  evening's  salutation 
with  him.  That  not  a  shovel  of  earth  had  yet  been  dug 
on  the  line  of  the  Colonel's  Railroad,  and  that  the  whole 
enterprise  was  one  of  those  schemes  well  nigh  impos 
sible  to  finance,  made  no  difference  to  Fitz.  He  never 
lost  an  opportunity  to  work  off  the  securities  whenever 
there  was  the  slightest  opening.  The  bonds,  of 
course,  had  not  been  issued;  they  had  never  been 
printed,  in  fact.  These  details  would  come  later, — 
whenever  the  capitalist  or  syndicate  should  begin  to 
look  into  the  enterprise  in  earnest. 

Up  to  the  moment  when  this  whirl  had  caught  the 
Street — an  event  which  Klutchem  acting  for  his  friends 
had  helped — Fitz  had  never  quite  given  up  the  hope 
that  somehow,  or  in  some  way,  or  by  some  hook  or 
crook,  some  deluded  capitalist,  with  more  money  than 
brains,  would  lose  both  by  purchasing  these  same 
"  Garden  Spots"  as  the  securities  of  the  Colonel's  pro 
posed  road  were  familiarly  called  in  the  Street.  That 
but  one  single  inquiry  had  thus  far  ever  been  made, 
and  that  no  one  of  his  or  anybody  else's  customers  had 
ever  given  them  more  than  a  hasty  dismissal,  had  never 
discouraged  Fitz. 

As  for  the  Colonel  he  was  even  more  sanguine.  The 
dawn  of  success  was  already  breaking  through  the 
darkness  and  his  hopes  would  soon  be  realized.  Hour 

12 


COLONEL  CARTER'S  CHRISTMAS 

after  hour  he  would  sit  by  his  fire,  building  fairy  castles 
in  its  cheery  coals.  Almost  every  night  there  was  a 
new  picture.  In  each  the  big  bridge  over  the  Tench 
was  already  built,  bearing  his  double  track  road  to 
Warrentown  and  the  sea — he  could  see  every  span  and 
pier  of  it;  the  town  of  Fairfax,  named  after  his  ances 
tors,  was  crowning  the  plateau;  the  round-house  for 
his  locomotives  was  almost  complete,  the  wharves  and 
landing  docks  finished.  And  in  all  of  these  pictures, 
warm  and  glowing,  there  was  one  which  his  soul 
coveted  above  all  others — the  return  of  the  proud  days 
of  the  old  Estate:  the  barns  and  outbuildings  repaired; 
the  fences  in  order;  Carter  Hall  restored  to  its  former 
grandeur,  and  dear  Aunt  Nancy  once  more  in  her  high 
spring  coach,  with  Chad  standing  by  to  take  her  shawl 
and  wraps.  These  things,  and  many  others  as  rose 
colored  and  inspiring,  the  Colonel  saw  night  after 
night  in  the  glow  and  flash  and  sparkle  of  his  wood  fire. 

No  wonder  then  that  Fitz  kept  hoping  against  hope; 
deluding  him  with  promises  and  keeping  up  his  spirits 
with  any  fairy  tale  his  conscience  would  permit  his  tell 
ing  or  his  ingenuity  contrive. 

To-night,  however,  Fitz's  nerve  seemed  to  have 
failed  him.  To  the  Colonel's  direct  inquiry  regarding 
the  slight  nibble  of  an  English  syndicate — (that  syn 
dicate  which  some  months  later  made  the  Colonel's 
fortune  and  with  which  Fitz  had  buoyed  up  his  hopes) 
the  broker  had  only  an  evasive  answer.  The  Colonel 
noticed  the  altered  tone  and  thought  he  had  divined 
the  cause. 

13 


COLONEL  CARTER'S  CHRISTMAS 

"  You  are  tired  out,  Fitz.  Isn't  it  so  ?  I  don't  won 
der  when  I  think  of  the  vast  commercial  problems  you 
are  solvin'  every  day.  Go  upstairs,  my  dear  boy,  and 
get  into  my  bed  for  the  night.  I  won't  have  you  go 
home.  It's  too  cold  for  you  to  go  out  and  the  snow 
is  driftin'  badly.  I'll  take  the  sofa  here." 

"No,  Colonel,  I  think  I'll  toddle  along  home.  I 
am  tired,  I  guess.  I  ought  to  be;  I've  had  nothing 
but  hard  knocks  all  day." 

"  Then  you  shan't  leave  my  house,  suh;  I  won't  per 
mit  it.  Chad,  go  upstairs  and  get  Mr.  FitzpaL-ick's 
chamber  ready  for  the  night,  and  Chad 

Fitz  laughed.  "And  have  you  sleep  on  that  hair 
cloth  sofa,  Colonel?"  and  he  pointed  to  the  sagging 
lounge. 

"Why  not? — I've  done  it  befo*.     Come,  I  insist." 

Fitz  was  on  his  feet  now  and  with  Chad's  assistance 
was  struggling  into  his  overcoat,  which  that  attentive 
darky  had  hung  over  a  chairback  that  it  might  dry 
the  easier. 

"I'm  going  home,  Colonel,  and  to  bed,"  Fitz  said 
in  a  positive  tone.  "  I  shouldn't  sleep  a  wink  if  I  knew 
you  were  thrashing  around  on  that  shake-down,  and 
you  wouldn't  either.  Good-night";  and  holding  out 
his  hand  to  his  host,  he  gave  me  a  tap  on  my  shoulder 
as  he  passed  my  chair  and  left  the  room,  followed  by 
the  Colonel. 

It  was  only  when  the  Colonel  had  found  Fitz's  rub 
bers  himself  and  had  turned  up  the  collar  of  his  coat 
and  had  made  it  snug  around  his  throat  to  keep  out 

14 


COLONEL  CARTER'S  CHRISTMAS 

the  snow,  and  had  patted  him  three  times  on  the  shoul 
der — he  only  showed  that  sort  of  affection  to  Fitz — 
and  had  held  the  door  open  until  both  Fitz  and  Chad 
were  lost  in  the  gloom  of  the  tunnel,  the  wind  having 
extinguished  the  lantern,  that  the  Colonel  again  re 
sumed  his  seat  by  the  fire. 

"I  must  say  I'm  worried  about  Fitz,  Major.  He 
don't  look  right  and  he  don't  act  right" — he  sighed  as 
he  picked  up  his  pipe  and  sank  into  his  arm-chair  until 
his  head  rested  on  its  back.  "  I'm  going  to  have  him 
see  a  doctor.  That's  what  I'm  going  to  do,  and  at 
once.  Do  you  know  of  a  good  doctor,  Major?" 

"Medicine  won't  help  him,  Colonel,"  I  answered. 
I  knew  the  dear  old  fellow  would  not  sleep  a  wink  even 
in  his  own  bed  if  the  idea  got  into  his  head  that  Fitz 
was  ill. 

"What  will?" 

"Money." 

The  Colonel  looked  at  me  in  astonishment. 

"What  kind  of  money?" 

"Any  kind  that's  worth  a  hundred  cents  on  the 
dollar." 

"  Why,  what  nonsense,  Major,  I'd  take  Fitz's  check 
for  a  million." 

"Klutchem  won't." 

"What's  the  scoundrel  got  to  do  with  it?" 

"  Everything,  unfortunately.  Fitz  is  short  of  10,000 
shares  of  Consolidated  Smelting,  and  Klutchem  and 
his  crowd  have  got  about  every  share  of  it  locked  up  in 
their  safes.  Some  of  Fitz's  customers  have  gone  back 

15 


COLONEL  CARTER'S  CHRISTMAS 

on  him,  and  he's  got  to  make  the  fight  alone.  If  smelt 
ing  goes  up  another  fifteen  points  to-morrow  Fitz  goes 
with  it.  It's  not  a  doctor  he  wants,  it's  a  banker. 
Cash,  not  pills,  is  what  will  pull  Fitz  through." 

Had  a  bomb  been  exploded  on  the  hearth  at  his  feet 
the  Colonel  could  not  have  been  more  astonished.  He 
sat  staring  into  my  eyes  as  I  unfolded  the  story,  his 
face  changing  with  every  disclosure;  horror  at  the 
situation,  anger  at  the  man  who  had  caused  it,  and 
finally — and  this  dominated  all  the  others — profound 
sympathy  for  the  friend  he  loved.  He  knew  some 
thing  of  the  tightening  of  the  grasp  of  a  man  like 
Klutchem  and  he  did  not  underestimate  the  gravity 
of  the  situation.  What  Consolidated  Smelting  repre 
sented,  or  what  place  it  held  in  the  market  were  un 
known  quantities  to  the  Colonel.  What  he  really  saw 
was  the  red  flag  of  the  auctioneer  floating  over  the 
front  porch  of  that  friend  in  Virginia  whom  the  Bank 
had  ruined,  and  the  family  silver  and  old  portraits  ly 
ing  in  the  carts  that  were  to  take  them  away  forever. 
It  was  part  of  the  damnable  system  of  Northern 
finance  and  now  Fitzpatrick  was  to  suffer  a  similar 
injustice. 

"Fitz  in  Klutchem's  power!  My  God,  suh!"  he 
burst  out  at  last,  "you  don't  tell  me  so!  And  Fitz 
never  told  me  a  word  about  it.  My  po'  Fitz !  My  po' 
Fitz!"  he  added  slowly  with  quivering  lips.  "Are 
you  quite  sure,  Major,  that  the  situation  is  as  serious 
as  you  state  it?" 

"Quite  sure.     He  told  me  so  himself.     He  wanted 
16 


COLONEL  CARTER'S  CHRISTMAS 

me  to  keep  still  about  it,  but  I  didn't  want  you  to  think 
he  was  ill." 

"You  did  right,  Major.  I  should  never  have  for 
given  you  if  you  had  robbed  me  of  the  opportunity  of 
helpin'  him.  It's  horrible;  it's  damnable.  Such 
men  as  Klutchem,  suh,  ought  to  be  drawn  and  quar 
tered." 

For  an  instant  the  Colonel  leaned  forward,  his  el 
bows  on  his  knees,  and  looked  steadily  into  the  fire; 
then  he  said  slowly  with  a  voice  full  of  sympathy,  and 
in  a  tone  as  if  he  had  at  last  made  up  his  mind: 

"  No,  I  won't  disturb  the  dear  fellow  to-night.  He 
needs  all  the  sleep  he  can  get." 

The  Colonel  was  still  in  his  chair  gazing  into  the 
fire  when  I  left.  His  pipe  was  out;  his  glass  untasted; 
his  chin  buried  in  his  collar. 

"My  po'  Fitz!"  was  all  he  said  as  he  lifted  his  hand 
and  pressed  my  own.  "  Good-night,  Major." 

When  I  had  reached  the  hall  door  he  roused  himself, 
called  me  back  and  said  slowly  and  with  the  deepest 
emotion: 

"  Major,  I  shall  help  Fitz  through  this  in  the  mornin* 
if  it  takes  eve'y  dollar  I've  got  in  the  world.  Stop  for 
me  as  you  go  down  town  and  we  will  call  at  his  office 
together." 


17 


II 

Fitz  had  not  yet  arrived  when  the  Colonel  in  his 
eagerness  stepped  in  front  of  me,  and  peered  through 
the  hole  in  the  glass  partition  which  divided  Fitz's 
inner  and  outer  offices. 

"  Come  inside,  Colonel,  and  wait — expect  him  after 
a  while,"  was  the  reply  from  one  of  the  clerks, — the 
first  arrival. 

But  the  Colonel  was  too  restless  to  sit  down,  and  too 
absorbed  even  to  thank  the  young  man  for  his  courtesy 
or  to  accept  his  invitation.  He  continued  pacing  up 
and  down  the  outer  office,  stopping  now  and  then  to 
note  the  heap  of  white  ribbons  tangled  up  in  a  wicker 
basket — records  of  the  disasters  and  triumphs  of  the 
day  before, — or  to  gaze  silently  at  the  large  map  that 
hung  over  the  steam-heater,  or  to  study  in  an  aimless 
way  the  stock  lists  skewered  to  the  wall. 

He  had  risen  earlier  than  usual  and  had  dressed 
himself  with  the  greatest  care  and  with  every  detail 
perfect.  His  shoes  with  their  patches,  one  on  each 
toe,  were  polished  to  more  than  Chad's  customary  brill 
iancy;  his  gray  hair  was  brushed  straight  back  from 
his  forehead,  its  ends  overlapping  the  high  collar  be 
hind;  his  goatee  was  twisted  to  a  fish-hook  point  and 
curled  outward  from  his  shirt-front;  his  moustache 
was  smooth  and  carefully  trimmed. 

18 


The  coat, — it  was  the  same  old  double-breasted 
coat,  of  many  repairs — was  buttoned  tight  over  his 
chest  giving  his  slender  figure  that  military  air  which 
always  distinguished  the  Virginian  when  some  matter 
of  importance,  some  matter  involving  personal  de 
fence  or  offence,  had  to  be  settled.  In  one  hand  he 
carried  his  heavy  cane  with  its  silver  top,  the  other  held 
his  well-brushed  hat. 

"  What  has  kept  Fitz  ?"  he  asked  with  some  anxiety. 

"Nothing,  Colonel.  Board  doesn't  open  till  ten 
o'clock.  He'll  be  along  presently,"  I  answered. 

Half  an  hour  passed  and  still  no  Fitz.  By  this  time 
I,  too,  had  begun  to  feel  nervous.  This  was  a  day  of 
all  others  for  a  man  in  Fitz's  position  to  be  on  hand 
early. 

I  interviewed  the  clerk  privately. 

"Stopped  at  the  Bank,"  he  said  in  an  undertone. 
"  He  took  some  cats  and  dogs  up  with  him  last  night 
and  is  trying  to  get  a  loan.  Going  to  r?in  down  here 
to-day,  I  guess,  and  somebody'll  get  wet.  Curb  mar 
ket  is  steady,  but  you  can't  tell  anything  till  the  Board 
opens." 

At  ten  minutes  before  ten  by  the  clock  on  the  wall 
Fitz  burst  into  the  office,  pulled  a  package  from  inside 
his  coat,  thrust  it  through  the  hole  in  the  glass  partition, 
whispered  something  to  a  second  clerk  who  had  just 
come  in,  and  who  at  Fitz's  command  grabbed  up  his 
hat,  and  with  three  plunges  was  through  the  doorway 
and  racing  down  the  street.  Then  Fitz  turned  and 
saw  us. 

19 


COLONEL  CARTER'S  CHRISTMAS 

"Why,  you  dear  Colonel,  where  the  devil  did  you 
come  from?" 

The  Colonel  did  not  answer.  He  had  noticed  Fitz's 
concentrated,  business-like  manner,  so  different  from 
his  bearing  of  the  night  before,  and  had  caught 
the  anxious  expression  on  the  clerk's  face  as  he 
bounded  past  him  on  his  way  to  the  street.  It  was 
evident  that  the  situation  was  grave  and  the  crisis 
imminent.  The  Colonel  rose  from  his  seat  and  held 
out  his  hand,  his  manner  one  of  the  utmost  so 
lemnity. 

"  I  have  heard  all  about  it,  Fitz.  I  am  here  to  stand 
by  you.  Let  us  go  inside  where  we  can  discuss  the 
situation  quietly." 

Fitz  looked  at  the  clock — it  was  a  busy  day  for  him 
• — shook  the  Colonel's  hand  in  an  equally  impressive 
manner,  glanced  inquiringly  at  me  over  his  shoulder, 
and  we  all  three  entered  the  private  office  and  shut  the 
door:  he  would  give  us  ten  minutes  at  all  events. 
What  really  perplexed  Fitz  at  the  moment  was  the 
hour  of  the  Colonel's  visit  and  his  reference  to  the 
"stand-by."  These  were  mysteries  which  the  broker 
failed  to  penetrate. 

The  Colonel  tilted  his  silver-topped  cane  against 
Fitz's  desk,  put  his  hat  on  a  pile  of  papers,  drew  his 
chair  close  and  laid  his  hand  impressively  on  Fitz's 
arm.  He  had  the  air  of  a  learned  counsellor  consult 
ing  with  a  client. 

"  You  are  too  busy,  Fitz,  to  go  into  the  details,  and 
my  mind  is  too  much  occupied  to  listen  to  them,  but 

20 


COLONEL  CARTER'S  CHRISTMAS 

just  give  me  an  outline  of  the  situation  so  that  I  can  act 
with  the  main  facts  befo'  me." 

Fitz  looked  at  me  inquiringly;  received  my  helpless 
shrug  as  throwing  but  little  light  on  the  matter,  and  as 
was  his  invariable  custom,  fell  instantly  into  the  Colo 
nel's  mood,  answering  him  precisely  as  he  would  have 
done  a  brother  broker  in  a  similar  case. 

"It  is  what  we  call  a  'squeeze/  Colonel.  I'm 
through  for  the  day,  I  hope,  for  my  bank  has  come  to 
my  rescue.  My  clerk  has  just  carried  up  a  lot  of  stuff 
I  managed  to  borrow.  But  you  can't  tell  what  to 
morrow  will  bring.  Looks  to  me  as  if  everything  was 
going  to  Bally-hack,  and  yet  there  are  some  things  in 
the  air  that  may  change  it  over  night." 

"Am  I  right  when  I  say  that  Mr.  Klutchem  is 
leadin'  the  attack?  And  on  you?" 

"That's  just  what  he  is  doing — all  he  knows 
how." 

"And  that  any  relief  must  be  with  his  consent?" 

"Absolutely,  for,  strange  to  say,  some  of  my 
defaulting  customers  have  been  operating  in  his 
office." 

The  Colonel  mused  for  some  time,  twisting  the  fish 
hook  end  of  his  goatee  till  it  looked  like  a  weapon  of 
offence. 

"Is  he  in  town?" 

"He  was  yesterday  afternoon." 

The  Colonel  rose  from  his  chair  with  a  determined 
air  and  pulled  his  coat  sleeves  over  his  cuffs. 

"  I'll  call  upon  him  at  once." 
21 


COLONEL  CARTER'S  CHRISTMAS 

Fitz's  expression  changed.  Once  start  the  dear 
Colonel  on  a  mission  of  this  kind  and  there  was  no  tell 
ing  what  complications  might  ensue. 

"  He  won't  see  you." 

"  I  have  thought  of  that,  Fitz.  I  do  not  forget  that 
I  informed  him  I  would  lay  my  cane  over  his  back  the 
next  time  we  met,  but  that  mattuh  can  wait.  This 
concerns  the  welfare  of  my  dea'est  friend  and  takes  pre 
cedence  of  all  personal  feelin's." 

"But,  Colonel,  he  would  only  show  you  the  door. 
He  don't  want  talk.  He  wants  something  solid  as  a 
margin.  I've  sent  it  to  him  right  along  for  their  ac 
count,  and  he'll  get  what's  coming  to  him  to-day,  but 
talk  won't  do  any  good." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  somethin'  solid,  Fitz  ? " 

"Gilt-edged  collateral, — 5.20's  or  something  as 
good." 

"I  presume  any  absolutely  safe  security  would 
answer?" 

"Yes." 

"And  of  what  amount?" 

"  Oh,  perhaps  fifty  thousand, — perhaps  a  hundred. 
I'll  know  to-morrow." 

The  Colonel  communed  with  himself  for  a  moment, 
made  a  computation  with  his  lips  assisted  by  his 
fingers,  and  said  with  great  dignity: 

"You  haven't  had  my '  Garden  Spots'  bonds  printed 
yet,  have  you?" 

"No." 

"Nothin'  lookin'  to'ards  it?" 
22 


COLONEL  CARTER'S  CHRISTMAS 

"Yes,  certainly,  but  nothing  definite.  I've  got  the 
proposition  I  told  you  about  from  the  Engraving  Com 
pany.  Here  it  is."  And  Fitz  pulled  out  a  package  of 
papers  from  a  pigeon-hole  and  laid  the  letter  before 
the  Colonel.  It  was  the  ordinary  offer  agreeing  to 
print  the  bonds  for  a  specified  sum,  and  had  been  one 
of  the  many  harmless  dodges  Fitz  had  used  to  keep  the 
Colonel's  spirits  up. 

The  Colonel  studied  the  document  carefully. 

"  When  I  accept  this,  of  co'se,  the  mattuh  is  closed 
between  me  and  the  Company?" 

"Certainly." 

"And  no  other  party  could  either  print  or  receive 
the  bonds  except  or^my  written  order?" 

"No."  Fitz  was  groping  now  in  the  dark.  Why 
the  Colonel  should  have  suddenly  dropped  Consoli 
dated  Smelting  to  speak  of  the  "Garden  Spots"  was 
another  mystery. 

"  And  I  have  a  right  to  transfer  this  order  to  any  one 
I  please?" 

"  Of  course,  Colonel."  The  mystery  was  now  im 
penetrable. 

"You  have  no  objection  to  my  takin'  this  letter, 
Fitz?" 

"  Not  the  slightest." 

The  Colonel  walked  to  the  window,  looked  out  for  a 
moment  into  the  street,  walked  back  to  Fitz's  desk, 
and  with  a  tinge  of  resignation  in  his  voice  as  if  he  had 
at  last  nerved  himself  for  the  worst,  laid  his  hand  on 
Fitz's  shoulder: 

23 


COLONEL  CARTER'S  CHRISTMAS 

"I  should  never  have  a  moment's  peace,  Fitz,  if  I 
did  not  exhaust  every  means  in  my  power  to  ward  off 
this  catastrophe  from  you.  Kindly  give  me  a  pen." 

I  moved  closer.  Was  the  Colonel  going  to  sign  his 
check  for  a  million,  or  was  there  some  unknown  friend 
who,  at  a  stroke  of  his  pen,  would  come  to  Fitz's 
rescue  ? 

The  Colonel  smoothed  out  the  letter  containing  the 
proposition  of  the  Engraving  Company,  tried  the  pen 
on  his  thumbnail,  dipped  it  carefully  in  the  inkstand, 
poised  it  for  an  instant,  and  in  a  firm  round  hand 
wrote  across  its  type- written  face  the  words: 


"  Accepted. 

GEORGE  FAIRFAX  CARTER, 


of  Cartersville." 


Then  he  folded  the  paper  carefully  and  slipped  it  into 
his  inside  pocket. 

This  done,  he  shook  Fitz's  hand  gravely,  nodded  to 
me  with  the  air  of  a  man  absorbed  in  some  weighty 
matter,  picked  up  his  cane  and  hat  and  left  the  office. 

"  What  in  the  name  of  common-sense  is  he  going  to 
to  do  with  that,  Fitz?"  I  asked. 

"I  give  it  up,"  said  Fitz.  "Ask  me  an  easy  one. 
Dear  old  soul,  isn't  he  lovely?  He's  as  much  worried 
over  the  market  as  if  every  dollar  at  stake  was  his  own. 
Now  you've  got  to  excuse  me,  Major.  I've  got  a  land- 
office  business  on  hand  to-day." 

The  Colonel's  manner  as  he  left  the  room  had  been 
so  calm  and  measured,  his  back  so  straight,  the  swing 

24 


COLONEL  CARTER'S  CHRISTMAS 

of  his  cane  so  rhythmical,  his  firm  military  tread  so  full 
of  courage  and  determination,  that  I  had  not  followed 
him.  When  he  is  in  these  moods  it  is  best  to  let  him 
have  his  own  way.  Fitz  and  I  had  discovered  this 
some  days  before,  when  we  tried  to  dissuade  him  from 
planting  into  Klutchem's  rotundity  the  bullets  which 
Chad  had  cast  with  so  much  care. 

Had  I  questioned  him  as  he  walked  out  this  morn 
ing  he  would  doubtless  have  said,  "I  do  not  expect 
you  Nawthern  men,  with  yo'r  contracted  ideas  of 
what  constitutes  a  man's  personal  honor,  to  understand 
the  view  I  take  of  this  mattuh,  Major,  but  my  blood 
requires  it.  I  never  forget  that  I  am  a  Caarter,  suh, — 
and  you  must  never  forget  it  either." 

Moreover,  had  I  gone  with  him  the  visit  might  have 
assumed  an  air  of  undue  importance.  There  was 
nothing  therefore  for  me  to  do  but  to  wait.  So  I 
buried  my  self  in  an  arm-chair,  picked  up  the  morning 
papers,  and  tried  to  possess  my  soul  in  patience  until 
the  Colonel  should  again  make  his  appearance  with  a 
full  report  of  his  mission. 

Twice  during  my  long  wait  Fitz  burst  in,  grabbed  up 
some  papers  from  his  desk  and  bounded  out  again, 
firing  some  orders  to  his  clerks  as  he  disappeared 
through  the  door.  He  was  too  absorbed  to  more  than 
nod  to  me,  and  he  never  once  mentioned  the  Colonel's 
name. 

About  noon  a  customer  in  the  outer  office — there 
were  half  a  dozen  of  them  watching  the  ticker — handed 
an  "extra"  to  the  clerk,  who  brought  it  to  me.  Con- 

25 


COLONEL  CARTER'S  CHRISTMAS 

solidated  Smelting  was  up  ten  points;  somebody  had 
got  out  an  injunction,  and  two  small  concerns  in 
Broad  Street  had  struck  their  colors  and  sent  word  to 
the  Exchange  that  they  could  not  meet  their  contracts. 

Still  no  Colonel! 

Had  he  failed  to  find  Klutchem;  had  he  been  thrown 
out  of  the  office  or  had  he  refrained  from  again  visiting 
Fitz  until  he  had  accomplished  something  definite  for 
his  relief? 

With  the  passing  of  the  hours  I  became  uneasy. 
The  Colonel,  I  felt  sure,  especially  in  his  present  frame 
of  mind,  would  not  desert  Fitz  unless  something  out  of 
the  common  had  happened.  I  would  go  to  Klut- 
chem's  office  first,  and  not  finding  him  there,  I  would 
keep  on  to  Bedford  Place  and  interview  Chad. 

"Been  here?"  growled  Klutchem's  clerk  in  answer 
to  my  question.  "  Well,  I  should  think  so.  Tried  to 
murder  Mr.  Klutchem.  They're  all  up  at  the  police 
station.  Nice  day  for  a  muss  like  this  when  every 
thing's  kitin'!  You  don't  know  whether  you're  a-foot 
or  a-horseback!  These  fire-eaters  ought  to  be  locked 
up!" 

"Arrested!" 

"  Well,  you'd  a-thought  so  if  you'd  been  here  half  an 
hour  ago.  He  kept  comin'  in  callin'  for  Mr.  Klutchem, 
and  then  he  sat  down  and  said  he'd  wait.  Looked  like 
a  nice,  quiet  old  fellow,  and  nobody  took  any  notice  of 
him.  When  Mr.  Klutchem  came  in — he'd  been  to  the 
Clearing-house — they  both  went  into  his  private  office 
and  shut  the  door.  First  thing  we  heard  was  some 

26 


COLONEL  CARTER'S  CHRISTMAS 

loud  talk  and  then  the  thump  of  a  cane,  and  when  I  got 
inside  the  old  fellow  was  beatin'  Mr.  Klutchem  over 
the  head  with  a  stick  thick  as  your  wrist.  We  tried 
to  put  him  out,  or  keep  him  quiet,  but  he  wanted  to 
fight  the  whole  office.  Then  a  cop  heard  the  row  and 
came  in  and  took  the  bunch  to  the  station.  Do  you 
know  him?" 

This  last  inquiry  coming  at  the  end  of  the  explosion 
showed  me  how  vivid  the  scene  still  was  in  the  clerk's 
mind  and  how  it  had  obliterated  every  other 
thought. 

"Know  him!  I  should  think  I  did,"  I  answered, 
my  mind  in  a  whirl.  "  Where  have  they  taken  him?" 

"Where  have  they  taken  'em,  Billy?"  asked  the 
clerk,  repeating  my  question  to  an  assistant. 

"  Old  Slip.  You  can't  miss  it.  It's  got  a  lamp  over 
the  door." 

The  Sergeant  smiled  when  I  stepped  up  to  the  desk 
and  made  the  inquiry. 

Yes;  a  man  named  Klutchem  had  made  a  charge  of 
assault  against  one  George  Carter.  Carter  was  then 
locked  up  in  one  of  the  cells  and  could  not  be  inter 
viewed  without  the  consent  of  the  Captain  of  the  Pre 
cinct  who  would  be  back  in  a  few  minutes. 

"Guess  it  ain't  serious,"  the  Sergeant  added. 
"  Couple  of  old  sports  got  hot,  that's  all,  and  this  old 
feller — "and  he  hunched  his  shoulder  towards  the 
cells — "pasted  the  other  one  over  the  nut  with  his 
toothpick.  Step  one  side.  Next!" 

27 


COLONEL  CARTER'S  CHRISTMAS 

I  sat  down  on  a  bench.  The  dear  Colonel  locked 
up  in  a  cell  like  a  common  criminal.  What  would 
Chad  say;  what  would  Aunt  Nancy  say;  what  would 
Fitz  say;  what  would  everybody  say?  And  then  the 
mortification  to  him;  the  wounding  of  his  pride;  the 
disgrace  of  it  all. 

Men  and  women  came  and  went;  some  with  bruised 
heads,  some  with  blackened  eyes,  one  wearing  a  pair 
of  handcuffs — a  sneak  thief,  caught,  with  two  over 
coats.  Was  the  Colonel  sharing  a  cell  with  such  people 
as  these?  The  thought  gave  me  a  shiver. 

A  straightening-up  of  half  a  dozen  policemen;  a 
simultaneous  touching  of  caps,  and  the  Captain,  a  red- 
faced,  black-moustached,  blue-coated  chunk  of  a  man, 
held  together  at  the  waist  by  a  leather  belt  and  be 
decked  and  be-striped  with  gilt  buttons  and  gold  braid, 
climbed  into  the  pulpit  of  justice  and  faced  the  room. 

I  stepped  up. 

He  listened  to  my  story,  nodded  his  head  to  a  door 
man  and  I  followed  along  the  iron  corridor  and  stood 
in  front  of  a  row  of  cells.  The  Turnkey  looked  over  a 
hoop  of  keys,  turned  one  in  a  door,  threw  it  wide  and 
said,  waving  his  finger: 

"Inside!"     These  men  use  few  words. 

The  Colonel  from  the  gloom  of  the  cell  saw  me 
first. 

"Why,  you  dear  Major!"  he  cried.  "You  are  cer 
tainly  a  good  Sama'itan.  In  prison  and  you  visited 
me.  I  am  sorry  that  I  can't  offer  you  a  chair,  suh,  but 
you  see  that  my  quarters  are  limited.  Fortunately  so 

28 


COLONEL  CARTER'S  CHRISTMAS 

far  I  have  been  able  to  occupy  it  alone.  Tell  me  of 
Fitz " 

"But  Colonel!"  I  gasped.  "I  want  to  know  how 
this  happened?  How  was  it  possible  that  you " 

"My  dear  Major,  that  can  wait.  Tell  me  of  Fitz. 
He  has  not  been  out  of  my  thoughts  a  moment.  Will 
he  get  through  the  day  ?  I  did  eve'ything  I  could,  suh, 
and  exhausted  eve'y  means  in  my  power." 

"Fitz  is  all  right.  They've  got  out  an  injunction 
and  the  market  is  steadier — 

"And  will  he  weather  the  gale?" 

"I  think  so." 

"Thank  God  for  that,  suh!"  he  answered,  his  lips 
quivering.  "  When  you  see  him  give  him  my  dea'est 
love  and  tell  him  that  I  left  no  stone  unturned." 

"Why  you'll  see  him  in  an  hour  yourself.  You 
don't  suppose  we  are  going  to  let  you  stay  here,  do 
you?" 

"  I  don't  know,  suh.  I  am  not  p'epared  to  say.  I 
have  violated  the  laws  of  the  State,  suh,  and  I  did  it 
purposely,  and  I'm  willin'  to  abide  the  consequences 
and  take  my  punishment.  I  should  have  struck  Mr. 
Klutchem  after  what  he  said  to  me  if  I  had  been 
hanged  for  it  in  an  hour.  I  may  be  released,  suh,  but 
it  will  not  be  with  any  taint  on  my  honor.  And  now 
that  my  mind  is  at  rest  about  Fitz,  I  will  tell  you  ex 
actly  what  occurred  and  you  can  judge  for  yo'self. 

"  When  Mr.  Klutchem  at  last  arrived  at  his  office — 
I  had  gone  there  several  times — I  said  to  him: 

"'Don't  start,  Mr.  Klutchem,  I  have  come  in  the 
29 


COLONEL  CARTER'S  CHRISTMAS 

interest  of  my  friend,  Mr.  Fitzpatrick.  And  diff'ences 
between  you  and  me  can  wait  for  a  mo'  convenient 
season/ 

"'Come  in/  he  said,  and  he  looked  somewhat  re 
lieved,  '  what  do  you  want  ? '  and  we  entered  his  private 
office  and  sat  down.  I  then,  in  the  most  co'teous  man 
ner,  went  into  the  details  of  the  transaction,  and  asked 
him  in  the  name  of  decency  that  he  would  not  crowd 
Fitz  to  the  wall  and  ruin  him,  but  that  he  would  at 
least  give  him  time  to  make  good  his  obligations. 

" '  He  can  have  it,'  he  blurted  out, '  have  all  the  time 
he  wants — all  of  'em  can  have  it.'  You  know  how 
coarse  he  can  be,  Major,  and  can  understand  how  he 
said  this.  'But' — and  here  Mr.  Klutchem  laid  his 
finger  alongside  his  nose — a  vulgaar  gesture,  of  co'se, 
but  quite  in  keepin'  with  the  man — '  we  want  some  col 
lateral  that  are  copper-fastened  and  gilt-edged  all  the 
way  through' — I  quote  his  exact  words,  Major. 

"I  have  expected  that,  suh,'  I  said,  'and  I  came 
p'epared,'  and  I  unbuttoned  my  coat,  took  out  the 
document  you  saw  me  sign  in  Fitz's  office,  and  laid  it 
befo'  him. 

"'What  is  this?'  he  said. 

" '  My  entire  interest  in  the  Caartersville  and  War- 
renton  Air  Line  Railroad,'  I  answered.  'The  whole 
issue  of  the  Gaarden  Spots,  as  you  have  no  doubt  heard 
them  familiarly  and  very  justly  called,  suh.' 

"  He  looked  at  me  and  said : 

"'Why  these  are  not  bonds — it  is  only  an  offer  to 
print  'em,'  he  said. 

30 


COLONEL  CARTER'S  CHRISTMAS 

" '  I  am  aware  of  that/  I  answered,  '  but  look  at  my 
signature,  suh.  I  shall  on  your  acceptance  of  my 
proposition,  transfer  the  whole  issue  to  you — then  they 
become  yo'  absolute  property.' 

"'For  what?'  he  interrupted. 

"'As  an  offerin'  for  my  friend,  suh.' 

" '  What!     As  margin  for  Consolidated  Smeltin'  ? ' 

"'True,  suh.  They  are,  of  co'se,  largely  in  excess 
of  yo'  needs,  but  Mr.  Fitzpatrick  is  one  of  my  dea'est 
friends.  You,  of  co'se,  realize  that  I  am  left  penniless 
myself  if  my  friend's  final  obligation  to  you  should 
exceed  their  face  value.' 

"He  got  up,  opened  the  door  of  a  safe  and  said, 
'Do  you  see  that  tin  box?' 

"'I  do,  suh.' 

"'Do  you  know  what  is  in  it?' 

"'I  do  not,  suh.' 

" '  Full  of  stuff  that  will  sell  under  the  hammer  above 
par.  Tell  Mr.  Fitzpatrick  if  he  and  his  customers  have 
anythin'  like  that  to  bring  it  in — and  look  here' — and 
he  pulled  out  a  small  drawer.  '  See  that  watch  ? '  I 
looked  in  and  saw  a  gold  watch,  evidently  a  gentle 
man's,  Major.  'That  watch  belonged  to  a  customer 
who  got  short  of  our  stock  last  week.  It's  wiped  out 
now  and  a  lot  of  other  things  he  brought  in.  That's 
what  we  call  collateral  down  here.' 

"'I  am  not  surprised,  suh,'  I  answered.  'If  men 
of  yo'  class  can  fo'ce  themselves  into  our  county; 
divest  a  man  of  his  silver-plate  and  family  po'traits, 
as  was  done  to  a  gentleman  friend  of  mine  of  the  high- 

31 


COLONEL  CARTER'S  CHRISTMAS 

est  standin'  in  my  own  State  by  a  Nawthern  caarpet- 
bag  Bank,  I  am  not  astonished  that  you  avail  yo'self 
of  a  customer's  watch.'  I  said  'divest'  and  'avail,' 
Major.  I  intended  to  say  'steal'  and  'rob'  but  I 
checked  myself  in  time. 

"Do  you  think  that's  any  worse  than  yo'  comin' 
down  here  and  tryin'  to  bunco  me  with  a  swindle  like 
that' — and  he  picked  up  the  document  and  tossed  it 
on  the  flo'. 

.  "  You  know  me  well  enough,  Major,  to  know  what 
followed.  Befo'  the  words  were  out  of  his  mouth  he 
was  flat  on  his  back  and  I  standin'  over  him  with  my 
cane.  Then  his  clerks  rushed  in  and  separated  us. 
My  present  situation  is  the  result." 

The  Colonel  stopped  and  looked  about  the  prison 
corridor.  "Strange  and  interestin'  place,  isn't  it, 
Major?  I  shall  be  reasonably  comfo'table  here,  I 
s'pose" — and  he  raised  his  eyes  towards  the  white 
washed  ceiling.  "There  is  not  quite  so  much  room 
as  I  had  at  City  Point  when  I  was  a  prisoner  of  war, 
but  I  shall  get  along,  no  doubt.  I  have  not  inqui'ed  yet 
whether  they  will  allow  me  a  servant,  but  if  they  do 
I  shall  have  Chad  bring  me  dowrn  some  comfo'ts  in  the 
mornin'.  I  think  I  should  like  a  blanket  and  pillow 
and  perhaps  an  easy-«hair.  I  can  tell  better  after 
passin'  the  night  here.  By  the  way,  Major,  on  yo'  way 
home  you  might  stop  and  see  Chad.  Tell  him  the 
facts  exactly  as  I  have  stated  them  to  you.  He  will 
understand;  he  was  with  me,  you  remember,  when  I 
was  overpow'ed  and  captured  the  last  year  of  the  War." 


COLONEL  CARTER'S  CHRISTMAS 

The  Turnkey,  who  had  been  pacing  up  and  down 
the  corridor,  stopped  in  front  of  the  gate.  The  Colo 
nel  read  the  expression  on  his  face,  and  shaking  my 
hand  warmly,  said  with  the  same  air  that  a  captured 
general  might  have  had  in  taking  leave  of  a  member 
of  his  staff: 

"The  officer  seems  impatient,  Major,  and  I  must, 
therefo',  ask  you  to  excuse  me.  My  dear  love  to  Fitz, 
and  tell  him  not  to  give  my  imprisonment  a  thought. 
Good-by,"  and  he  waved  his  hand  majestically  and 
stepped  back  into  the  cell. 


33 


in 

The  arrival  of  Fitz  in  a  cab  at  the  police-station 
half  an  hour  later — just  time  enough  for  me  to  run  all 
the  way  to  his  office — the  bailing  out  of  the  Colonel 
much  against  his  protest,  his  consent  being  gained 
only  when  Fitz  and  I  assured  him  that  such  things 
were  quite  within  the  limit  of  our  judicial  code,  and 
that  no  stain  on  his  honor  would  or  could  ensue  from 
any  such  relief;  the  Colonel's  formal  leave-taking  of 
the  Captain,  the  Sergeant  and  the  Turnkey,  each  of 
whom  he  thanked  impressively  for  the  courtesies  they 
had  shown  him;  our  driving — the  Colonel  and  I — 
post-haste  to  Bedford  Place,  lest  by  any  means  Chad 
might  have  heard  of  the  affair  and  so  be  frightened  half 
out  of  his  wits;  the  calm  indifference  of  that  loyal 
darky  when  he  ushered  us  into  the  hall  and  heard  the 
Colonel's  statement,  and  Chad's  sententious  comment: 
"  In  de  Calaboose,  Colonel !  Well,  f o'  Gawd !  what  I 
tell  ye  'bout  dis  caanin'  bis'ness.  Got  to  git  dem 
barkers  ready  jes'  I  toP  ye;  dat's  de  only  thing  dat'll 
settle  dis  muss," — these  and  other  incidents  of  the  day 
equally  interesting  form  connecting  links  in  a  story 
which  has  not  only  become  part  of  the  history  of  the 
Carter  family  but  which  still  serve  as  delightful  topics 
whenever  the  Colonel's  name  is  mentioned  by  his 
many  friends  in  the  Street. 


COLONEL  CARTER'S  CHRISTMAS 

More  important  things,  however,  than  the  arrest  and 
bailing  out  of  the  Colonel  were  taking  place  in  the 
Street.  One  of  those  financial  bombs  which  are  al 
ways  lying  around  loose — a  Pacific  Mail,  or  Erie,  or 
N.  P. — awaiting  some  fool-match  to  start  it,  sailed  out 
from  its  hiding-place  a  few  minutes  before  the  Ex 
change  closed — while  Fitz  was  bailing  out  the  Colonel, 
in  fact — hung  for  an  instant  trembling  in  mid-air,  and 
burst  into  prominence  with  a  sound  that  shook  the 
Street  to  its  foundations.  In  five  minutes  the  floor  of 
the  Exchange  was  a  howling  mob,  the  brokers  fight 
ing,  tearing,  yelling  themselves  hoarse.  Money  went 
up  to  one  per  cent  and  legal  interest  over  night,  and 
stocks  that  had  withstood  every  financial  assault  for 
years  tottered,  swayed  and  plunged  headlong.  Into 
the  abyss  fell  Consolidated  Smelting.  Not  only  were 
the  ten  points  of  the  day's  rise  wiped  out,  but  thirty 
points  besides.  Shares  that  at  the  opening  sold 
readily  at  55  went  begging  at  30.  Klutchem  and  his 
backers  were  clinging  to  the  edges  of  the  pit  with  ruin 
staring  them  in  the  face,  and  Fitz  was  sailing  over  the 
crater  thousands  of  dollars  ahead  of  his  obligations. 

The  following  morning  another  visitor — a  well- 
dressed  man  with  a  diamond  pin  in  his  scarf — walked 
up  and  down  Fitz's  office  awaiting  his  arrival — a 
short,  thick-set,  large-paunched  man  with  a  heavy  jaw, 
a  straight  line  of  a  mouth,  two  little  restless  eyes  wob 
bling  about  in  a  pulp  of  wrinkles,  flabby  cheeks,  a 
nose  that  was  too  small  for  the  area  it  failed  to  orna- 

35 


COLONEL  CARTER'S  CHRISTMAS 

ment,  and  a  gray  stubbly  beard  shaven  so  closely  at  its 
edges  that  it  looked  as  if  its  owner  might  either  wear 
it  on  his  chin  or  put  it  in  his  pocket  at  his  pleasure. 

"Down  yet?"  asked  the  visitor  in  a  quick,  impatient 
voice. 

"Not  yet,  Mr.  Klutchem.  Take  a  seat."  Then 
the  clerk  passed  his  hand  over  his  face  to  straighten  out 
a  rebellious  smile  and  hid  his  head  in  the  ledger. 

"  I'll  wait,"  retorted  the  banker,  and  stepping  inside 
Fitz's  private  office  he  settled  himself  in  a  chair,  legs 
apart,  hands  clasped  across  his  girth. 

Fitz  entered  with  an  air  that  would  have  carried 
comfort  to  the  Colonel's  soul — with  a  spring,  a  breeze, 
a  lightness;  a  being  at  peace  with  all  the  world;  and 
best  of  all  with  a  self-satisfied  repose  that  was  in  ab 
solute  contrast  to  the  nervousness  of  the  day  before. 

"Who?"  he  asked  of  his  clerk. 

"Klutchem." 

"Where?" 

The  clerk  pointed  to  the  office  door. 

Fitz's  face  straightened  out  and  grew  suddenly 
grave,  but  he  stepped  briskly  into  his  sanctum  and 
faced  his  enemy. 

"Well,  what'is  it,  Mr.  Klutchem?" 

Before  his  visitor  opened  his  mouth,  Fitz  saw  that 
the  fight  was  all  out  of  the  Head  Centre  of  Consolidated 
Smelting.  A  nervous,  conciliatory  smile  started  from 
the  line  of  Klutchem's  mouth,  wrinkled  the  flesh  of 
his  face  as  far  as  his  cheeks,  and  died  out  again. 

"We  got  hit  pretty  bad  yesterday,  Fitzpatrick,  and 
36 


COLONEL  CARTER'S  CHRISTMAS 

I  thought  we  might  as  well  talk  it  over  and  see  if  we 
couldn't  straighten  out  the  market." 

"Then  it  isn't  about  Colonel  Carter?"  said  Fits 
coldly. 

He  had  all  the  Consolidated  he  wanted  and  didn't 
see  where  Klutchem  could  be  of  the  slightest  use  in 
straightening  out  anything. 

"I'll  attend  to  him  later,"  replied  Klutchem,  and  a 
curious  expression  overspread  his  face.  "  You  heard 
about  it,  then  ?  " 

"  Heard  about  it!  I  bailed  him  out.  If  you  wanted 
to  lock  anybody  up  why  didn't  you  get  after  some  one 
who  knew  the  ropes,  not  a  man  like  the  Colonel  who 
never  had  a  dishonest  thought  in  his  head  and  who  is 
as  tender-hearted  as  a  child." 

"You  don't  know  what  you're  talking  about," 
flared  Klutchem.  "  He  came  down  with  a  cock-and- 
bull  story  and  wanted  me  to  take — 

"  I  know  the  whole  story,  every  word  of  it.  He  came 
down  to  offer  you  every  dollar  of  his  interest  in  a 
scheme  that  is  as  real  to  him  as  if  the  bonds  were  sell 
ing  on  the  Exchange  at  par.  They  are  all  he  has  in 
the  world,  and  if  some  miracle  should  occur  and  they 
should  be  worth  their  face  value  he  would  never  touch 
a  penny  of  the  proceeds  if  he  was  starving  to  death, 
because  of  the  promise  he  made  you.  And  in  my  in 
terest,  too,  not  his  own,  and  all  for  love  of  me,  his 
friend." 

"  But  it  was  only  a  letter  from  a  concern  offering  bo 

print " 

37 


COLONEL  CARTER'S  CHRISTMAS 

"  Certainly.  And  across  it  he  had  written  his  name 
— both,  I  grant  you,  not  worth  the  paper  they  were 
written  on.  But  why  didn't  you  have  the  decency  to 
humor  the  dear  old  fellow  as  we  all  do,  and  treat  him 
with  the  same  courtesy  with  which  he  treated  you,  in 
stead  of  insulting  him  by  throwing  the  letter  in  his  face. 
You'll  excuse  me,  Mr.  Klutchem,  when  I  say  it  gets 
me  pretty  hot  when  I  think  of  it.  I  don't  blame  him 
for  cracking  you  over  the  head,  and  neither  would  you, 
if  you  understood  him  as  I  do." 

Klutchem  looked  out  of  the  window  and  twisted 
his  thumbs  for  an  instant  as  if  in  deep  thought.  The 
outcome  of  the  interview  was  of  the  utmost  importance 
to  him,  and  he  did  not  want  anything  to  occur  which 
would  prejudice  his  case  with  the  broker.  Fitz  sat  in 
front  of  him,  bent  forward,  his  hands  on  his  knees, 
his  eyes  boring  into  Klutchem's. 

Then  a  puzzled,  and  strange  to  say  what  appeared 
to  be  a  more  kindly  expression  broke  over  Klutchem's 
face. 

"I  guess  I  was  rough,  but  I  didn't  mean  it,  really. 
You  know  how  it  was  yesterday — regular  circus  all 
day.  I  wouldn't  have  made  the  charge  at  the  police- 
station — for  he  didn't  hurt  me  much — if  the  police 
man  hadn't  compelled  me.  And  then  don't  forget, 
this  isn't  the  first  time  I've  come  across  him.  He 
came  to  my  house  once  when  I  was  laid  up  with  the 
gout,  and " 

"  Yes,"  interrupted  Fitz,  "  I  haven't  forgotten  it,  and 
what  did  he  come  for?  To  apologize,  didn't  he?  I 

38 


COLONEL  CARTER'S  CHRISTMAS 

should  have  thought  you'd  have  seen  enough  of  him  at 
that  time  to  know  what  kind  of  a  man  he  was.  Down 
here  in  the  Street  we've  got  to  put  things  down  on 
paper  and  we  don't  trust  anybody.  We  don't  under 
stand  the  kind  of  a  man  whose  word  is  literally  as  good 
as  his  bond,  and  who,  to  help  any  man  he  calls  his 
friend,  would  spend  his  last  cent  and  go  hungry  the 
balance  of  his  life.  I've  lived  round  here  a  good  deal 
in  my  time  and  I've  seen  all  kinds  of  men,  but  the 
greatest  compliment  I  ever  had  paid  me  in  my  life 
was  when  the  Colonel  offered  you  yesterday  the  scrap 
of  paper  that  you  threw  back  in  his  face." 

As  Fitz  talked  on  Klutchem's  tightly  knit  brows  be 
gan  to  loosen.  He  hadn't  heard  such  things  for  a 
good  many  years.  Life  was  a  scramble  and  devil  take 
the  hindermost  with  him.  If  anybody  but  Fitz — one 
of  the  level-headed  men  in  the  Street — had  talked  to 
him  thus,  he  might  not  have  paid  attention,  but  he 
knew  Fitz  was  sincere  and  that  he  spoke  from  his 
heart  The  still  water  at  the  bottom  of  [the  banker's 
well — the  water  that  was  frozen  over  or  sealed  up, 
or  so  deep  that  few  buckets  ever  reached  it — began  to 
be  stirred.  His  anxiety  over  Consolidated  only  added 
another  length  to  the  bucket's  chain. 

"  Fifczpatrick,  I  guess  you're  right.  What  ought  I  to 
do?" 

"  You  ought  to  go  up  to  his  house  this  very  day  and 
beg  his  pardon,  and  then  wipe  out  that  idiotic  charge 
you  made  at  the  police-station." 

"I  will,  Fitzpatrick." 

39 


COLONEL  CARTER'S  CHRISTMAS 

"You  will?" 

"Yes." 

"There's  my  hand,  Now  bring  out  your  Con 
solidated  Smelting,  and  I'll  do  what's  decent." 

At  four  o'clock  that  same  day  Fitz,  with  Mr.  Klut- 
chem  beside  him,  swung  back  the  wicket-gate  of  the 
tunnel,  traversed  its  gloom,  crossed  the  shabby  yard 
piled  high  with  snow  heaped  up  by  Chad's  active 
shovel,  and  rapped  at  the  front  door  of  the  little  house. 

The  Colonel  was  in  his  chair  by  the  fire.  I  had  just 
told  him  the  good  news,  and  he  and  I  were  sampling 
a  fresh  bottle  of  the  groceryman's  Madeira  in  celebra 
tion  of  the  joyous  turn  in  Fitz's  affairs,  when  Chad 
with  eyes  staring  from  his  head  announced: 

"Misser  Klutchem  and  Misser  Fitzpatrick." 

What  the  old  darky  thought  was  coming  I  do  not 
know,  but  I  learned  afterwards,  that  as  soon  as  he  had 
closed  the  door  behind  the  visitors,  he  mounted  the 
stairs  three  steps  at  a  time,  grabbed  up  the  case  of 
pistols  from  his  master's  dressing-table,  pulled  the 
corks  from  their  mouths,  and  hurrying  down  laid  the 
case  and  its  contents  on  the  hall  table  to  be  ready  for 
instant  use. 

The  announcement  of  Klutchem's  name  brought  the 
Colonel  to  his  feet  as  straight  as  a  ramrod. 

"It's  all  right,  Colonel,"  said  Fitz,  noting  the  color 
rise  in  his  friend's  face.  "  Mr.  Klutchem  and  I  have 
settled  all  our  differences.  He  has  just  offered  me  a 
barrel  of  Consolidated,  and  at  my  own  price.  That 
fight's  all  over,  and  I  bear  him  no  grudge.  As  to  your- 

40 


COLONEL  CARTER'S  CHRISTMAS 

self,  he  has  come  up  to  tell  you  how  sorry  he  is  for 
what  occurred  yesterday,  and  to  make  any  reparation 
to  you  in  his  power." 

Klutchem  had  not  intended  to  go  so  far  as  that,  and 
he  winced  a  little  under  Fitz's  allusion  to  the  "  barrel," 
but  he  was  in  for  it  now,  and  would  follow  Fitz's  lead 
to  the  end.  Then  again,  the  papers  in  the  Consoli 
dated  matter  would  not  be  signed  until  the  morning. 

"  Yes,  Carter,  I'm  sorry.  Fact  is,  I  misunderstood 
you.  I  was  very  busy,  you  remember,  and  I'm  sorry, 
too,  for  what  occurred  at  the  police-station;  that,  how 
ever,  you  know  I  couldn't  help." 

The  omission  of  the  Virginian's  title  scraped  the  skin 
from  the  Colonel's  amour  propre,  but  the  words  "  I'm 
sorry"  coming  immediately  thereafter  healed  the 
wound. 

The  military  bearing  of  our  host  began  to  relax. 

"  And  you  have  come  here  with  my  friend  Mr.  Fitz- 
patrick  to  tell  me  this?" 

"I  have." 

"  And  you  intended  no  reflection  on  my  honor  when 
you — when  you — handed  me  back  my  secu'ities?" 

"No,  I  didn't.  The  stuff  wasn't  our  kind,  you 
know.  If  I  had  stopped  to  hear  what  you  had  to  say 
I'd " 

"Let  it  all  pass,  suh.  I  accept  yo'  apology  in  the 
spirit  in  which  it  was  given,  suh.  As  to  my  imprison 
ment,  that  is  a  matter  which  is  not  of  the  slightest  con 
sequence.  We  soldiers  are  accustomed  to  these  in 
conveniences,  suh.  It  is  part  of  the  fortunes  of  war. 

41 


COLONEL  CARTER'S  CHRISTMAS 

Take  that  chair,  Mr.  Klutchem,  and  let  my  servant 
relieve  you  of  yo'  coat  and  hat." 

The  promptness  with  which  that  individual  an 
swered  to  his  name  left  no  doubt  in  my  mind  that  that 
worthy  defender  of  the  Colonel's  honor  had  been  stand 
ing  ready  outside  the  door,  which  had  been  left  partly 
open  for  the  purpose,  his  hand  on  the  knob. 

"Yes,  sah.     I  heard  ye,  Colonel." 

"And,  Chad,  bring  some  glasses  for  the  gentlemen." 

Klutchem  settled  his  large  frame  in  the  chair  that 
had  been  vacated  by  the  Colonel,  and  watched  the 
glass  being  slowly  filled  from  a  decanter  held  in  his 
host's  own  hands.  Fitz  and  I  retired  to  the  vicinity 
of  the  sideboard,  where  he  gave  me  in  an  undertone 
an  account  of  the  events  of  the  morning. 

"  Got  a  nice  box  of  a  place  here,  Colonel,"  remarked 
Mr.  Klutchem.  He  remembered  the  title  this  time — 
the  surroundings  had  begun  to  tell  upon  him.  "  Cost 
you  much?"  and  the  broker's  eyes  roamed  about  the 
room,  taking  in  the  big  mantel,  the  brass  andirons, 
India  blue  china  and  silver  candlesticks. 

"A  mere  trifle,  suh,"  said  the  Colonel,  stiffening. 
The  cost  of  things  were  never  mentioned  in  this  atmos 
phere.  "To  associate  bargain  and  sale  with  the  ap 
pointments  of  yo'  household  is  like  puttin'  yo'  hos 
pitality  up  at  auction,"  he  would  frequently  say. 

"A  mere  trifle,  suh,"  he  repeated.  "My  estates, 
as  you  probably  know,  are  in  Virginia,  near  my 
ancestral  town  of  Caartersville.  Are  you  familiar 
with  that  part  of  the  country,  suh  ?  " 

42 


COLONEL  CARTER'S  CHRISTMAS 

And  thereupon,  on  the  banker's  expressing  his  entire 
ignorance  of  Fairfax  County  and  its  contiguous  sur 
roundings,  the  Colonel,  now  that  his  honor  as  a  duelHst 
had  been  satisfied  by  Klutchem's  apologies;  his 
friend's  ruin  averted  by  the  banker's  generosity,  as 
was  attested  by  his  offering  Fitz  a  barrel  full  of  securi 
ties  which  the  day  previous  were  worth  their  weight  in 
gold;  and  especially  because  this  same  philanthropist 
was  his  guest,  at  once  launched  forth  on  the  beauty 
of  his  section  of  the  State.  In  glowing  terms  he  de 
scribed  the  charms  of  the  river  Tench;  the  meadows 
knee-deep  in  clover;  the  mountains  filled  with  the 
riches  of  the  Orient  looming  up  into  the  blue;  the 
forests  of  hardwood,  etc.,  etc.,  and  all  in  so  persuasive 
and  captivating  a  way  that  the  practical  banker,  al 
ways  on  the  lookout  for  competent  assistants,  made  a 
mental  memorandum  to  consult  Fitz  in  the  morning  on 
the  possibility  of  hiring  the  Colonel  to  work  off  an 
issue  of  State  bonds  which  at  the  moment  were  dead 
stock  on  his  hands. 

By  this  time  Klutchem,  warmed  by  his  host's 
Madeira  and  cheery  fire,  had  not  only  become  really 
interested  in  the  man  beside  him,  but  had  lost  to  a  cer 
tain  extent  something  of  his  blunt  Wall  Street  manner 
and  hard  commercial  way  of  looking  at  things.  It 
was,  therefore,  not  surprising  to  either  Fitz  or  myself, 
who  had  watched  the  gradual  adjustment  of  the  two 
men,  to  hear  the  Colonel,  who  had  now  entirely  for 
gotten  all  animosity  towards  his  enemy  say  to  Klut 
chem  with  great  warmth  of  manner,  and  with  the 

43 


evident  intention  of  not  being  outdone  in  generosity 
at  such  a  time: 

"  I  would  like  to  show  you  that  gaarden,  suh.  Per 
haps  some  time  I  may  have  the  pleasure  of  entertainin' 
you  in  my  own  home  at  Caartersville." 

Mr.  Klutchem  caught  his  breath.  He  saw  the 
Colonel  was  perfectly  sincere,  and  yet  he  could  not  but 
admit  the  absurdity  of  the  situation.  Invited  to  visit 
the  private  estate  of  a  man  who  had  caned  him  the 
day  before,  and  against  whom  he  was  expected  in  the 
morning  to  make  a  complaint  of  assault  and  battery! 

"  Oh,  that's  mighty  kind,  Colonel,  but  I  guess  you'll 
have  to  excuse  me." 

The  banker,  as  he  spoke,  glanced  at  Fitz.  He 
didn't  want  to  do  anything  to  offend  Fitz — certainly 
not  until  the  papers  in  the  Consolidated  Smelting  settle 
ment  were  complete  and  the  documents  signed — and 
yet  he  didn't  see  how  he  could  accept. 

"But  I  won't  take  no  for  an  answer,  suh.  Miss 
Caarter  will  be  here  in  a  day  or  two,  and  I  will  only 
be  too  happy  to  discuss  with  her  the  date  of  yo'  visit." 

Before  Klutchem  could  refuse  again  Fitz  stepped 
forward,  and,  standing  over  Mr.  Klutchem's  chair, 
dug  his  knuckles  into  the  broker's  back.  The  signal 
was  unmistakable. 

"Well,  thank  you,  Colonel.  I'll  speak  to  my 
daughter  about  it,  and  if— 

"  Yo'  daughter,  suh  ?  Then  I  am  sure  the  last  ob 
stacle  is  removed.  Miss  Caarter  will  be  mo'  than 
delighted,  suh,  to  entertain  her,  too.  I  will  ascertain 

44 


COLONEL  CARTER'S  CHRISTMAS 

my  aunt's  plans  as  soon  as  she  arrives,  and  will  let  you 
know  definitely  when  she  will  be  best  p'epared  for  yo' 
entertainment." 

When  the  party  broke  up,  and  Fitz  and  Mr.  Klut- 
chem  had  been  helped  on  with  their  coats  by  Chad, 
Klutchem  remarked  to  Fitz  as  we  all  walked  through 
the  tunnel: 

"Queer  old  party,  Fitzpatrick;  queerest  I  ever 
saw.  You  were  right — not  a  crooked  hair  in  his  head. 
Glad  I  came.  Of  course  I  can't  go  down  to  his 
place — haven't  got  the  time — but  I  bet  you  he'd  be 
glad  to  see  me  if  I  did.  Funny,  too — poor  as  a  rat 
and  busted,  and  yet  he  never  said  'Garden  Spots,' 
once." 

On  my  re-entering  the  house, — Fitz  had  gone  on 
with  Klutchem — Chad,  who  was  waiting  for  me,  took 
me  into  a  corner  of  the  hall  and  said  in  a  voice  filled 
with  disappointment: 

"What  I  tell  ye,  Major?  Ain't  dat  too  bad?  I 
ain't  never  gwine  ter  forgib  de  Colonel  for  lettin'  him 
git  away.  Gor-A-Mighty!  Did  ye  see  de  size  of  him 
— hardly  git  frough  de  gate!  WTiy,  der  warn't  no 
chance  o'  inissin'  him.  Colonel  could  a-filled  him 
ful  o'  holes  as  a  sieve." 


45 


IV 

The  Colonel's  positive  injunction  that  each  one  of 
his  friends  should  call  on  every  one  of  his  guests 
within  forty-eight  hours  of  their  arrival  was  never 
necessary  in  the  case  of  Miss  Ann  Carter.  One  day 
was  enough  for  me — one  hour  would  have  been  more 
to  my  liking.  Only  consideration  for  her  comfort, 
and  the  knowledge  that  she  would  be  somewhat  fa 
tigued  by  her  journey  from  Carter  Hall  northward, 
ever  kept  me  away  from  her  that  long.  Then,  again, 
I  knew  that  she  wanted  at  least  one  entire  day  in  which 
to  straighten  out  the  various  domestic  accounts  of  the 
little  house  in  Bedford  Place,  including  that  compli 
cated  and  highly-prized  pass-book  of  the  "Grocer- 
man." 

And  then  Chad's  delight  when  he  opened  the  door 
with  a  sweep,  his  face  a  sunburst  of  smiles  and  an 
nounced  Miss  Carter's  presence  in  the  house!  And 
the  new  note  in  the  Colonel's  voice — a  note  of  triumph 
and  love  and  pride!  And  the  touches  here  and  there 
inside  the  cosy  rooms;  touches  that  only  a  woman  can 
give — a  new  curtain  here,  a  pot  of  flowers  there:  all 
joyous  happenings  that  made  a  visit  to  Aunt  Nancy, 
as  we  loved  to  call  her,  one  of  the  events  to  be  looked 
forward  to. 

46 


COLONEL  CARTER'S  CHRISTMAS 

But  it  was  not  Chad  who  opened  the  door  on  this 
particular  morning.  That  worthy  darky  was  other 
wise  occupied;  in  the  kitchen,  really,  plucking  the 
feathers  from  the  canvas-back  ducks.  They  had  been 
part  of  the  dear  lady's  impedimenta,  not  to  mention  a 
huge  turkey,  a  box  of  terrapin,  and  a  barrel  of  Pon- 
gateague  oysters,  besides  unlimited  celery,  Tolman 
sweet  potatoes,  and  a  particular  brand  of  hominy,  for 
which  Fairfax  County  was  famous. 

I  say  it  wras  not  Chad  at  all  who  opened  the  door 
and  took  my  card,  but  a  scrap  of  a  pickaninny  about 
three  feet  high,  with  closely-cropped  wool,  two  strings 
of  glistening  white  teeth — two,  for  his  mouth  was  al 
ways  open;  a  pair  of  flaring  ears  like  those  of  a  mouse, 
and  two  little  restless,  wicked  eyes  that  shone  like  black 
diamonds:  the  whole  of  him,  with  the  exception  of  his 
cocoanut  of  a  head,  squeezed  into  a  gray  cloth  suit 
bristling  with  brass  buttons  and  worsted  braid,  a 
double  row  over  his  chest,  and  a  stripe  down  each  seam 
of  his  trousers. 

Aunt  Nancy's  new  servant! 

The  scrap  held  out  a  silver  tray;  received  my  card 
with  a  dip  of  his  head,  threw  back  the  door  of  the  din 
ing-room,  scraped  his  foot  with  the  flourish  of  a  clog 
dancer,  and  disappeared  in  search  of  his  mistress. 

Chad  stepped  from  behind  the  door,  his  face  in  a 
broad  grin.  He  had  crept  up  the  kitchen  stairs,  and 
had  been  watching  the  boy's  performance  from  the 
rear  room.  His  sleeves  were  rolled  up  and  some  of  the 
breast  feathers  of  the  duck  still  stuck  to  his  fingers. 

47 


COLONEL  CARTER'S  CHRISTMAS 

"Don't  dat  beat  cle  Ian'!  Major,"  he  said  to  me. 
"  Did  ye  see  dem  buttons  on  him  ?  Ain't  he  a  wonder  ? 
Clar  to  goodness  looks  like  he's  busted  out  wid  brass 
measles.  And  he  a-waitin'  on  de  Mist'iss!  I  ain't 
done  nothin'  but  split  myself  a-laughin'  ever  since  he 
come.  MY  !  !  !"  and  Chad  bent  himself  double,  the 
tears  starting  to  his  eyes. 

"What's  his  name,  Chad?" 

"Says  his  name's  Jeems.  Jeems,  mind  ye!"  Here 
Chad  went  into  another  convulsion.  "Jim's  his  real 
name,  jes'  Jim.  He's  one  o'  dem  Barbour  niggers. 
Raised  down  t'other  side  de  Barbour  plantation  long 
side  of  our'n.  Miss  Nancy's  been  down  to  Richmond 
an'  since  I  been  gone  she  don't  hab  nobody  to  wait  on 
her,  an'  so  she  tuk  dis  boy  an'  fixed  him  up  in  dese 
Richmond  clothes.  He  says  he's  free.  Free,  mind 
ye!  Dat's  what  all  dese  no  count  niggers  is.  But  I'm 
watchin'  him,  an'  de  fust  time  he  plays  any  o'  dese  yer 
free  tricks  on  me  he'll  land  in  a  spell  o'  sickness,"  and 
Chad  choked  himself  with  another  chuckle. 

The  door  swung  back. 

"  Miss  Caarter  say  dat  she'll  be  down  in  a  minute," 
said  the  scrap. 

Chad  straightened  his  face  and  brought  it  down  to 
a  semblance  of  austerity;  always  a  difficult  task  with 
Chad. 

"  Who  did  you  say  was  yere  ? "  he  asked. 

"  I  didn't  say — I  handed  her  de  kerd." 

"  How  did  you  carry  it  ?  " 

"  In  my  pan." 

48 


COLONEL  CARTER'S  CHRISTMAS 

"What  did  ye  do  wid  de  pan?" 

The  boy's  face  fell. 

"Ilef  it  in  de  hall,  sah." 

"Sah!  sah!  Don't  you  'sah'  me.  Ain't  nobody 
'sail'  round  yere  but  de  Colonel.  What  I  tell  you 
to  call  me?" 

"Uncle  Chad." 

"  Dat's  it,  Uncle  Chad.  Now  go  'long,  honey,  an' 
take  yo'  seat  outside  wid  yo'  pan;  plenty  folks  comin', 
now  dey  know  de  Mist'iss  here.  Dar  she  is  now. 
Dat's  her  step,  on  de  stairs,  Major.  I  doan'  want  her 
to  catch  me  lookin'  like  dis.  Drap  into  de  kitchen, 
Major,  as  ye  go  out,  I  got  sumpin'  to  show  ye.  Dem 
tarr'pins  de  Mist'iss  fotch  wid  her  make  yo'  mouf 
water." 

Some  women,  when  they  enter  a  room,  burst  in  like 
a  child  just  out  of  school  and  overwhelm  you  with  the 
joyousness  of  their  greetings;  others  come  in  without  a 
sound,  settle  into  a  seat  and  regale  you  in  monotones 
with  histories  of  either  the  attendant  misery  or  the 
expected  calamity. 

Aunt  Nancy  floated  in  like  a  bubble  blown  along  a 
carpet,  bringing  with  her  a  radiance,  a  charm,  a  gentle 
ness,  a  graciousness  of  welcome,  a  gladness  at  seeing 
you,  so  sincere  and  so  heartfelt,  that  I  always  felt  as  if 
a  window  had  been  opened  letting  in  the  sunshine  and 
the  perfume  of  flowers. 

"Oh,  my  dear  Major!"  and  she  held  out  her  hand; 
that  tiny  little  hand  which  lace  becomes  so  well,  and 
that  always  suggests  its  morning  baptism  of  rose  water. 

49 


COLONEL  CARTER'S  CHRISTMAS 

Such  a  dainty  white  hand!  I  always  bend  over  and 
kiss  it  whenever  I  have  the  chance,  trying  my  best  to 
be  the  gallant  I  know  she  would  like  me  to  be. 

After  the  little  ceremony  of  my  salutation  was  over 
I  handed  her  to  a  seat,  still  holding  her  finger-tips, 
bowing  low  just  as  her  own  cavaliers  used  to  do  in  the 
days  when  she  had  half  the  County  at  her  feet.  I  love 
these  make-believe  ceremonies  when  I  am  with  her — 
and  then  again  I  truly  think  she  would  not  be  so  happy 
without  them.  This  over  I  took  my  jJace  opposite  so 
I  could  watch  her  face  and  the  smik .  aying  across  it 
— that  face  wyhich  the  Colone  always  said  reminded 
him  of  "Summer  roses  a-bloom  ??.  October." 

We  talked  of  her  journey  and  of  how  she  had  stood 
the  cold  and  how  reluctant  she  had  been  at  first  to 
leave  Carter  Hall,  especially  at  the  Christmas  season, 
and  of  the  Colonel  (not  a  word,  of  course,  about  the 
encounter  with  Klutchem — no  one  would  have  dared 
breathe  a  word  of  that  to  her),  and  then  of  the  scrap 
of  a  pickaninny  she  had  brought  with  her. 

" Isn't  he  too  amusing?  I  brought  him  up  as  much 
to  help  dear  Chad  as  for  any  other  reason.  But  he 
is  incorrigible  at  times  and  I  fear  I  shall  have  to  send 
him  back  to  his  mother.  I  thought  the  livery  might 
increase  his  self-respect,  but  it*  only  seems  to  have 
turned  his  head.  He  doesn't  obey  me  at  all,  and  is  so 
forgetful.  Chad  is  the  only  one  of  whom,  I  think,  he 
is  at  all  afraid." 

A  knock  now  sounded  in  the  hall  and  I  could  hear 
the  shuffling  of  Jim's  feet,  and  the  swinging  back  of 

50 


COLONEL  CARTER'S  CHRISTMAS 

the  door.  Then  Fitz's  card  was  brought  in — not  on 
the  silver  tray  this  time,  but  clutched  in  the  monkey 
paw  of  the  pickaninny. 

Aunt  Nancy  looked  at  him  with  a  certain  well-as 
sumed  surprise  and  drew  back  from  the  proffered  card. 

"  James,  is  that  the  way  to  bring  me  a  card  ?  Have 
I  not  told  you  often " 

The  boy  looked  at  her,  his  face  in  a  tangle  of  emo 
tions.  "  De  Pan  /  Fo'  Gord,  Mist'iss,  I  done  forgot 
dat  pan,"  and  with  a  spring  he  was  out  again,  return 
ing  with  Fitz's  pasteboard  on  the  silver  tray,  closely 
followed  by  that  gentleman  himself,  who  was  shaking 
with  laughter  over  the  incident. 

"  One  of  your  body-guard,  Aunt  Nancy?"  said  Fitz, 
as  he  bent  over  and  kissed  her  hand.  It  was  astonish 
ing  how  easily  Fitz  fell  into  these  same  old-time  cus 
toms  when  he  was  with  the  dear  lady — he,  of  all  men. 

"No,  dear  friend,  one  of  the  new  race  of  whom  I 
am  trying  to  make  a  good  servant.  His  grandmother 
in  slave  times  belonged  to  a  neighbor  of  ours,  and  this 
little  fellow  is  the  youngest  of  six.  I've  just  been  tell 
ing  the  Major  what  a  trial  he  is  to  me.  And  now  let 
me  look  at  you.  Ah!  you  have  been  working  too  hard. 
I  see  it  in  your  eyes.  Haven't  you  had  some  dreadful 
strain  lately?" 

Fitz  declared  on  his  honor,  with  one  hand  over  his 
upper  watch  pocket,  and  the  other  still  in  hers,  that  he 
never  felt  better  in  his  life,  and  that  so  idle  had  he  be 
come  lately,  that  it  was  hard  work  for  him  to  keep 
employed.  And  then  Aunt  Nancv  made  him  sit  be- 

51 


COLONEL  CARTER'S  CHRISTMAS 

side  her  on  the  haircloth  sofa,  the  one  on  which  Fitz 
would  not  permit  the  Colonel  to  sleep,  and  I,  being 
nearest,  tucked  a  cushion  under  her  absurdly  small 
feet  and  rearranged  about  her  shoulders  her  Indian 
mull  shawl,  which  didn't  require  any  rearranging  at 
all.  And  after  Fitz  had  told  the  dear  lady  for  the  third 
time  how  glad  he  was  to  see  her,  and  after  she  had  told 
him  how  glad  she  was  to  see  both  of  us,  and  how  she 
hoped  dear  George  would  soon  secure  the  money  neces 
sary  to  build  his  railroad,  so  that  we  could  all  come  to 
Carter  Hall  for  next  Christmas,  she  adding  gravely  that 
she  really  couldn't  see  any  need  for  the  road's  existence 
or  any  hope  of  its  completion,  although  she  never  said 
so  to  dear  George,  she  being  a  woman  and  not  ex 
pected  to  know  much  of  such  things ;  — after,  I  say,  all 
these  delightful  speeches  and  attentions  and  confi 
dences  had  been  indulged  in,  Aunt  Nancy  bent  her 
head,  turned  her  sweet  face  framed  in  the  lace  cap  and 
ribbons,  first  towards  me  and  then  back  to  Fitz  again — 
she  had  been  talking  to  Fitz  all  this  time,  I  listening — 
and  said  with  the  air  of  a  fairy  godmother  entertaining 
two  children: 

"And  now  I've  got  a  great  Christmas  surprise  for 
both  of  you,  and  you  shall  have  one  guess  apiece  as  to 
what  it  is." 

Fitz,  with  the  memories  of  a  former  Christmas  at 
Carter  Hall  still  fresh  in  mind,  and  knowing  the  dear 
lady's  generosity,  and  having  seen  the  biggest  bundle 
of  feathers  and  the  longest  pair  of  legs  he  had  ever 
laid  his  eyes  on  hanging  head  down  on  the  measly  wrall 

52 


of  the  shabby  yard  as  he  entered,  screwed  up  his  eyes, 
cudgelled  his  brain  by  tapping  his  forehead  with  his 
forefinger,  and  blurted  out: 

"  Wild  turkey  stuffed  with  chestnuts." 

Aunt  Nancy  laughed  until  her  side  curls  shook. 

"  Oh,  you  dreadful  gourmand!  Not  a  bit  like  a  tur 
key.  How  mortified  you  will  be  when  you  find  out! 
Go  and  stand  in  the  corner,  sir,  with  your  face  to  the 
wall.  Now,  Major,  it's  your  turn." 

Fitz  began  to  protest  that  he  ought  to  have  another 
chance,  and  that  it  had  slipped  out  before  he  knew  it, 
since  he  had  never  forgotten  a  brother  of  that  same 
bird,  one  that  he  had  eaten  at  her  own  table;  but  the 
little  lady  wouldn't  hear  another  syllable,  and  waved 
him  away  with  great  dignity,  whereupon  Fitz  buried 
his  fat  face  in  his  hands,  and  said  that  life  was  really 
not  worth  the  living,  and  that  if  anybody  would  suggest 
a  comfortable  way  of  committing  suicide  he  would 
adopt  it  at  once. 

When  my  turn  came,  I,  remembering  the  buttons 
on  "  Jeems,"  guessed  a  livery  for  Chad,  at  which  the 
dear  lady  laughed  more  merrily  than  before,  and  Fitz 
remarked  in  a  disgusted  tone  that  the  dense  stupidity 
of  some  men  was  one  of  the  characteristics  of  the 
time. 

"No;  it's  nothing  to  eat  and  it's  nothing  to  wear. 
It's  a  most  charming  young  lady  who  at  my  earnest 
solicitation  has  consented  to  dine  with  us,  and  to  whom 
I  want  you  two  young  gentlemen  (Fitz  is  forty  if  he's 
a  day,  and  looks  it)  to  be  most  devoted." 

53 


COLONEL  CARTER'S  CHRISTMAS 

"Pretty?"  asked  Fitz,  pulling  up  his  collar — prink 
ing  in  mock  vanity. 

"Yes,  and  better  than  pretty." 

"Young?"  persisted  Fitz. 

"  Young,  and  most  entertaining." 

"  Now  listen  both  of  you  and  I  will  tell  you  all  about 
it.  She  lives  up  in  one  of  your  most  desolate  streets, 
Lafayette  Place,  I  think,  they  call  it,  and  in  such  a 
sombre  house  that  it  looks  as  if  the  windows  had  never 
been  opened.  Her  mother  is  dead,  and  such  a  faded, 
hopeless-looking  woman  takes  care  of  the  house,  a 
relation  of  the  father's,  I  understand,  who  is  a  business 
friend  of  George's,  and  with  whom  he  tells  me  he  once 
had  a  slight  misunderstanding.  George  did  not  want 
Christmas  to  pass  with  these  differences  unsettled, 
and  so,  of  course,  I  went  to  call  the  very  day  I  arrived 
and  invited  her  and  her  father  to  dine  with  us  on  Christ 
mas  Eve.  We  always  celebrate  our  Christmas  then  as 
you  both  know,  on  account  of  our  old  custom  of  giving 
Christmas  day  to  our  servants.  And  I  am  so  glad  I 
went.  I  did  not,  of  course,  see  the  father.  Oh,  it 
would  make  your  heart  ache  to  see  the  inside  of  that 
house.  Everything  costly  and  solid,  and  yet  every 
thing  so  joyless.  I  always  feel  sorry  for  such  homes, — 
no  flowers  about,  no  books  that  are  not  locked  up,  no 
knick-knacks  nor  pretty  things.  I  hope  you  will  both 
help  me  to  make  her  Christmas  Eve  a  happy  one. 
You  perhaps  may  know  her  father,  Mr.  Fitzpatrick, 
— he  is  in  Wall  Street  I  hear,  and  his  name  is 
Klutchem." 

54 


Fitz,  in  his  astonishment,  so  far  forgot  himself  as  to 
indulge  in  a  low  whistle. 

"Then  you  do  know  him?" 

"Oh,  very  well." 

"And  you  tell  me  that  Mr.  Klutchem  is  really  com- 
'  ing  to  dinner  and  going  to  bring  his  daughter?"  asked 
Fitz,  in  a  tone  that  made  his  surprise  all  the  more 
marked. 

"Yes;  George  had  a  note  from  him  this  morning 
saying  his  daughter  would  be  here  before  dark  and  he 
would  come  direct  from  his  office  and  meet  her  here  in 
time  for  dinner.  Isn't  it  delightful?  You  will  be 
quite  charmed  with  our  guest,  I'm  sure.  And  about 
the  father — tell  me  something  of  him?"  Aunt  Nancy 
inquired  in  her  sweetest  voice. 

"About  Mr.  Klutchem?  Well!  Yes,  to  be  sure. 
Why,  Klutchem!  Yes,  of  course.  A  most  genial  and 
kindly  man,"  answered  Fitz,  controlling  himself; 
"a  little  eccentric  at  times  I  have  heard,  but  not  more 
so  than  most  men  of  his  class.  Not  a  man  of  much 
taste,  perhaps,  but  most  generous.  Would  give  you 
anything  in  the  world  he  didn't  want,  and  be  so  de 
lighted  when  you  took  it  off  his  hands.  Insisted  on 
giving  me  a  lot  of  stock  the  other  day,  but  of  course  I 
wouldn't  take  it."  This  was  said  with  so  grave  a  face 
that  its  point  escaped  the  dear  lady. 

"How  very  kind  of  him.  Perhaps  that  is  where 
his  daughter  gets  her  charm,"  replied  Aunt  Nancy, 
with  a  winning  smile. 

There  is  no  telling  what  additional  mendacities  re- 
55 


COLONEL  CARTER'S  CHRISTMAS 

garding  the  Klutchem  family  Fitz,  who  had  now  re 
gained  his  equilibrium,  would  have  indulged  in,  had 
I  not  knit  my  eyebrows  at  him  behind  Aunt  Nancy's 
back  as  a  warning  to  the  mendacitor  not  to  mislead 
the  dear  lady,  whose  disappointment,  I  knew,  would 
only  be  the  greater  when  she  met  Klutchem  face  to 
face. 

When  I  had  risen  to  take  my  leave  Fitz  excused  him- 
jelf  for  a  moment  and  followed  me  into  the  hall. 

"  Klutchem  coming  to  dinner,  Major,  and  going  to 
l»ring  his  daughter?  What  the  devil  do  you  think  is 
up?  If  the  Colonel  wasn't  so  useless  financially  I'd 
<hink  Klutchem  had  some  game  up  his  sleeve.  But 
?f  that  is  so,  why  bring  his  daughter  ?  My  lawyer  told 
me  to-day  the  assault  and  battery  case  is  all  settled, 
so  it  can't  be  that.  Wonder  if  the  Colonel  has  con 
verted  Klutchem  as  to  the  proper  way  of  running  a 
bank?  No,  that's  nonsense!  Klutchem  would  skin 
a  flea  and  sell  the  tallow,  no  matter  what  the  Colonel 
said  to  him.  Coming  to  dinner!  Well,  that  gets  me !" 

As  I  shut  the  front  door  behind  me  and  stopped  for 
a  minute  on  the  top  step  overlooking  the  yard,  I  caught 
sight  of  the  grocer  emerging  from  the  tunnel  with  a 
basket  on  his  arm  for  Chad,  who  was  standing  below 
me  outside  his  kitchen  door  with  the  half-picked  duck 
in  his  hand.  The  settlement  of  "  Misser  Grocerman's" 
unpaid  accounts  by  Miss  Nancy  on  one  of  her  former 
visits  to  Bedford  Place  had  worked  a  double  miracle — 
Chad  no  longer  feared  the  dispenser  of  fine  wines  and 
other  comforts,  and  the  dispenser  himself  would  have 

56 


COLONEL  CARTER'S  CHRISTMAS 

emptied  his  whole  shop  into  Chad's  kitchen  and  waited 
months  for  his  pay  had  that  loyal  old  servant  per 
mitted  it.  This  was  evident  from  the  way  in  which 
Chad  dropped  the  half-picked  duck  on  a  bench  beside 
the  door  and  hurried  forward  to  help  unpack  the 
basket;  and  the  deferential  smile  on  the  grocer's  face 
as  he  took  out  one  parcel  after  another,  commenting 
on  their  quality  and  cheapness. 

I  had  promised  Chad  to  stop  long  enough  to  inspect 
Miss  Nancy's  "tarr5  pins,"  and  so  I  waited  until 
Chad's  duties  were  over. 

"That's  the  cheekiest  little  coon  ever  come  into  the 
store,"  I  hear  the  grocer  say  writh  a  laugh.  "  I'd  a-slid 
him  out  on  his  ear  if  he'd  said  much  more." 

Chad  looked  over  his  pile  of  bundles — they  lay  up 
on  his  arm;  the  top  one  held  in  place  by  his  chin — and 
asked  with  some  anxiety: 

"  Who,  Jim  ?     What  did  he  do  ?  " 

"Do!  He  waltzed  in  yesterday  afternoon  with  his 
head  up  and  his  under  lip  sticking  out  as  if  he  owned 
the  place.  When  I  told  him  to  take  the  sugar  back 
with  him,  he  said  he  wasn't  carrying  no  bundles  for 
nobody,  he  was  waiting  on  Miss  Carter.  He's  out  at 
the  gate  now." 

"Do  ye  hear  dat,  Major?  Ain't  dat  'nough  to 
make  a  body  sick  ?  I  been  'spectin'  dis  ever  since  he 
come.  I'm  gwinter  stop  dis  foolishness  short  off." 

The  old  darky  waited  until  the  grocer  had  reached 
the  street,  then  he  shouted  into  che  gloom  of  the  nar 
row  passage: 

57 


COLONEL  CARTER'S  CHRISTMAS 

"Here,  Jim.     Come  here." 

The  scrap  in  buttons  slammed  to  the  wicket  gate 
and  came  running  through  the  tunnel. 

"  What  you  tell  dat  gemman  yisterday  when  I  sont 
you  for  dat  sugar,  wid  yo'  lip  stickin'  out  big  'nough  for 
a  body  ter  sit  on  ? " 

The  boy  hung  his  head. 

"You'se  waitin'  on  Miss  Caarter,  is  ye,  an'  ye  ain't 
caarryin'  no  bundles  ?  If  I  ever  hear  ye  sass  anybody 
round  here  agin,  white  or  black,  I'll  tear  dem  buttons 
off  ye  an'  skin  ye  alive — you'se  caarryin'  what  I  send 
ye  for — do  ye  hear  dat?  Free,  is  ye?  You'se  free 
wid  yo'  sass  an'  dat's  all  de  freedom  you  got." 

"I — didn't  know — yer  want  me  ter — caa'ry  it 
back,"  said  the  boy  in  a  humble  tone,  but  with  the 
twinkle  of  a  smouldering  coal  in  his  eye. 

"  Ye  didn't  ?  Who  did  ye  think  was  gwine  to  caa'ry 
it  back  for  ye  ?  Maybe  it  was  de  Colonel  or  de  Mist'- 
iss  or  me?"  Chad's  voice  had  now  risen  to  a  high 
pitch,  and  with  a  touch  of  sarcasm  in  it  which  was  bit 
ing.  "  Pretty  soon  you'll  'spec'  somebody  gwine  to 
call  for  ye  in  dere  caa'ridge.  Yo'  idea  o'  freedom  is  to 
wait  on  nobody  and  hab  no  manners.  What  ye  got 
in  yo'  hand?" 

"  Cigarette  white  boy  gimme," — and  the  boy  dropped 
the  burning  end  on  the  brick  pavement  of  the  yard. 

"Dat's  mo'  freedom,  an'  dat's  all  dis  po'  white 
trash  is  gwine  to  do  for  ye — stuffin'  yo'  head  wid  lies, 
an'  yo'  mouf  wid  a  wad  o'  nastiness.  Now  go  'long 
an'  git  yo'  pan." 

58 


COLONEL  CARTER'S  CHRISTMAS 

Chad  waited  until  the  boy  had  mounted  the  steps 
and  entered  the  house,  then  he  turned  to  me. 

"Po'  li'l  chin'ka'pin — he  don't  know  no  better. 
How's  he  gwine  to  git  a  bringin'  up?  Miss  Nancy 
tryin'  to  teach  him,  but  she  ain't  gwine  make  nuffin'  of 
him.  He's  got  pizened  by  dis  freedom  talk,  an*  he 
ain't  gwine  to  git  cured.  Fust  thing  ye  know  he'll  be 
gin  to  think  he's  good  as  white  folks,  an'  when  he's  got 
dat  in  his  head  he's  done  for.  I'm  gwine  to  speak  to 
de  Mist'iss  'bout  dat  boy,  an'  see  if  sumpin  can't  be 
done  to  save  him  fo'  it  gits  too  late;  ain't  nuffin'  gwine 
to  do  him  no  good  but  a  barr'l  stave — hear  dat — a 
barr'l  stave!" 

The  Colonel  had  come  in  quietly  and  stood  listening. 
I  had  heard  the  click  of  the  outer  gate,  but  supposed 
it  was  the  grocer  returning  with  the  additional  supplies. 

"Who's  Chad  goin'  to  thresh,  Major?"  the  Colonel 
asked,  with  a  smile  as  he  put  his  arm  over  my  shoulder. 

"  Miss  Nancy's  pickaninny,"  I  answered. 

"What,  little  Jim?"  There  was  a  tone  of  surprise 
now  in  the  Colonel's  voice. 

Chad  stood  abashed  for  a  moment.  He  had  stowed 
away  the  groceries,  and  had  the  duck  in  his  hand  again, 
his  fingers  fumbling  among  its  feathers. 

"'Scuse  me,  Colonel,  I  ain't  gwine  whale  him,  of 
co'se,  'thout  yo'  permission,  but  he's  dat  puffed  up 
he'll  bust  fo'  long." 

"What's  he  been  up  to?" 

"Sassin'  Misser  Grocerman — runnin'  to  de  gate 
wid  his  head  out  like  a  tar'pin's,  smoking  dese  yer 

59 


COLONEL  CARTER'S  CHRISTMAS 

paper  seegars  dat  smell  de  whole  place  up  vill'nous, 
'stid  of  waitin'  on  de  Mist'iss." 

"And  you  think  beatin'  him  will  do  him  any  good, 
Chad?  How  many  times  did  yo'  Marster  John  beat 
you?" 

Chad  looked  up,  and  a  smile  broke  over  his  face. 

"I  don't  reckellmember  airy  lick  de  Marster  ever 
laid  on  me." 

"Raised  you  pretty  well,  didn't  he,  Chad?" 

"Yas,  sah — dat  he  did." 

"Anybody  beat  you  since  you  grew  up?" 

"No,  sah." 

"Pretty  good,  Chad,  ain't  you?" 

"I  try  to  be,  sah." 

"Well,  now,  be  a  little  patient  with  that  boy.  It 
isn't  his  fault  that  he's  sp'ilt;  it's  part  of  the  damnable 
system  this  Gov'ment  has  put  upon  us  since  the  war. 
Am  I  right,  Major?" 

I  nodded  assent. 

Chad  pulled  out  a  handful  of  feathers  from  the  duck, 
dropped  them  into  a  barrel  near  where  we  stood  in  the 
yard,  and  said,  as  if  his  mind  wras  finally  made  up : 

"  Co'se,  Colonel,  I  ain't  nuffin'  to  say  jes'  'cept  dis. 
When  I  was  dat  boy's  age  I  was  runnin'  'round  bare 
foot  an'  putty  nigh  naked,  my  shirt  out  o'  my  pants 
haalf  de  time;  but  Marse  John  tuk  care  o'  me,  an' 
when  I  got  hongry  I  knowed  whar  dey  was  sumpin  to 
eat  an'  I  got  it.  Dat  boy  ain't  had  nobody  take  care 
o'  him  till  de  Mist'iss  tuk  him,  and  haalf  de  time  he 
went  hongry;  no  manners,  no  bringin'  up — runnin' 

60 


COLONEL  CARTER'S  CHRISTMAS 

wid  po'  white  trash,  gittin'  his  head  full  o'  fool  notions 
'stid  o'  waitin'  on  his  betters.  Now  look  at  him. 
Come  in  yere  yisterday  mornin',  an'  want  borry  my 
bresh  to  black  his  shoes.  Den  he  must  bresh  his 
clothes  wid  yo'  bresh — yo'  bresh,  mind  you!  I 
cotched  him  at  it.  Den  he  gits  on  his  toes  an'  squints 
at  hisself  in  de  Mist'iss  glass — I  cotched  him  at  dat, 
too — an'  he  ugly  as  one  o'  dem  black  tree-toads.  You 
know  what  done  dat?  Dem  Richmond  clothes  he's 
got  on.  I  tell  ye,  Colonel,  sumpin  gotter  be  done,  or 
dem  buttons'll  spile  dat  chile." 

The  Colonel  laughed  heartily. 

"What  does  Miss  Nancy  say  about  yo'  barr'l 
stave?" 

"She  don't  say  nuffin',  'cause  she  don't  know." 

"  Well,  don't  you  thresh  Jim  till  you  see  her." 

"No,  sah." 

"And  Chad?" 

"Yes,  sah." 

"  WThen  you  do,  pick  out  a  little  stave.  Come,  Ma 
jor,  go  back  with  me  for  just  ten  minutes  mo'  and  see 
the  dea'est  woman  in  the  world." 


61 


The  day  before  Christmas  was  a  never-to-be-forgot 
ten  day  in  Bedford  Place.  Great  preparations  were 
being  made  for  the  event  of  the  evening,  and  every 
body  helped. 

Little  Jim  under  the  tutelage  of  Chad,  and  in  hourly 
fear  of  the  promised  thrashing — it  had  never  gone  be 
yond  the  promise  since  the  Colonel's  talk — had  so  far 
forgotten  his  clothes  and  his  dignity  as  to  load  himself 
with  Christmas  greens — one  long  string  wound  around 
his  body  like  a  boa  constrictor — much  to  the  amuse 
ment  of  the  Colonel,  who  was  looking  out  of  the  dining- 
room  window  when  he  emerged  from  the  tunnel. 
Aunt  Nancy  went  all  the  way  to  the  grocery  for  some 
big  jars  for  the  flowers  I  had  sent  her  (not  to  men 
tion  a  bunch  of  roses  of  the  Colonel's)  and  brought 
one  of  the  pots  back  in  her  own  hand;  and  spoke 
in  so  low  and  gende  a  voice  when  she  purchased 
them  that  everybody  in  the  place  ceased  talking  to 
listen. 

The  Colonel  busied  himself  drawing,  in  the  most 
careful  and  elaborate  manner,  the  wax-topped  corks 
of  certain  be-cobwebbed  bottles  that  had  been  de 
livered  the  night  before  by  no  less  a  person  than  Dun 
can's  own  agent,  and  to  one  of  which  was  attached 

62 


COLONEL  CARTER'S  CHRISTMAS 

Fitz's  visiting  card  bearing  his  compliments  and  best 
wishes.  The  contents  of  these  crusted  bottles  the 
Colonel  had  duly  emptied  into  two  cut-glass  decanters 
with  big  stoppers — heirlooms  from  Carter  Hall — 
placing  the  decanters  themselves  in  two  silver  coasters 
bearing  the  Coat-of-Arms  of  his  family,  and  the  whole 
combination  on  the  old-fashioned  sideboard  which 
graced  the  wall  opposite  the  fireplace.  Chad,  with 
the  aid  of  the  grocer,  had  produced  as  assistant  below 
stairs,  from  a  side  street  behind  Jefferson  Market,  a 
saddle-colored  female  who  wore  flowers  in  her  hat, 
and  who,  to  his  infinite  amusement,  called  him  "  Mis 
ter." 

"  Can't  do  nothin'  big,  Major,  dis  place's  so  mighty 
small,"  he  called  to  me  from  his  kitchen  door  as  I 
mounted  the  yard  steps,  "but  it's  gwine  to  smell 
mighty  good  round  here  'bout  dinner-time. 

Under  the  deft  touches  of  all  these  willing  hands  it 
is  not  to  be  wondered  at  that  the  Colonel's  cosy  rooms 
developed  a  quality  unknown  to  them  before,  delightful 
as  they  had  always  been :  The  table  boasted  an  extra 
leaf  (an  extra  leaf  was  always  ready  for  use  in  every 
dining-room  of  the  Colonel's);  the  candlesticks,  old 
family  plate  and  andirons,  dulled  by  the  winter's  use, 
shone  with  phenomenal  brightness;  the  mantel  sup 
ported  not  only  half  a  dozen  bottles  of  claret  (Dun 
can's  cellars,  Fitz's  selection)  but  a  heap  of  roses  that 
reached  as  high  as  the  clock,  while  over  the  door, 
around  the  windows  and  high  up  over  the  two  fire 
places — everywhere,  in  fact,  where  a  convenient  nail 

63 


COLONEL  CARTER'S  CHRISTMAS 

or  hook  could  be  found — were  entwined  in  loops  and 
circles,  the  Christmas  greens  and  holly  berries  that 
little  Jim  had  staggered  under. 

The  crowning  sensation  of  the  coming  event  stood 
in  the  corner  of  the  rear  room, — a  small  Christmas  tree 
grown  in  the  woods  behind  Carter  Hall.  A  little  tree 
with  all  its  branches  perfect;  large  enough  to  hold  its 
complement  of  candles;  small  enough  to  stand  in  the 
centre  of  the  table  within  reach  of  everybody's  hand. 
Aunt  Nancy  had  picked  it  out  herself.  She  must  al 
ways  respect  the  sentiment.  No  bought  tree  would  do 
for  her  on  such  an  occasion.  It  must  be  to  the  manor 
born,  nourished  in  her  own  soil,  warmed  by  the  same 
sun  and  watered  by  the  same  rains.  The  bringing  of 
a  tree  from  her  own  home  at  Carter  Hall  to  cheer  the 
Colonel's  temporary  resting-place  in  Bedford  Place, 
was  to  her  like  the  bringing  of  a  live  coal  from  old  and 
much  loved  embers  with  which  to  start  a  fire  on  a  new 
hearth. 

These  several  preparations  complete — and  it  was 
quite  late  in  the  day  when  they  were  complete  (in  the 
twilight  really) — Chad  threw  a  heap  of  wood  beside  the 
fireplace,  brushed  the  hearth  of  its  ashes,  laid  a  pile  of 
India  Blue  plates  in  front  of  its  cheery  blaze  (no  crime, 
the  Colonel  often  said,  was  equal  to  putting  a  hot  duck 
on  a  cold  plate),  placed  the  Colonel's  chair  in  position, 
arranged  a  cushion  in  Aunt  Nancy's  empty  rocker; 
gave  a  few  finishing  touches  to  the  table;  stopped  a 
moment  in  the  kitchen  below  to  give  some  instructions 
to  the  saddle-colored  female  as  to  the  length  of  time  a 

64 


COLONEL  CARTER'S  CHRISTMAS 

canvas-back  should  remain  in  the  oven,  and  stepped 
back  into  his  little  room,  there  to  array  himself  in  white 
jacket  and  gloves,  the  latter  tucked  into  his  outside 
pocket  ready  for  instant  use. 

During  these  final  preparations  the  Colonel  was  up 
stairs  donning  a  costume  befitting  the  occasion — snow- 
white  waistcoat,  white  scarf  and  patent-leather  pumps, 
with  little  bows  over  the  toes,  limp  as  a  poodle's  ears, 
and  his  time-honored  coat,  worn  wide  open  of  course, 
the  occasion  being  one  of  great  joyousness  and  good 
cheer.  These  necessities  of  toilet  over,  the  Colonel 
descended  the  narrow  staircase,  threw  wide  the  dining- 
room  door,  shook  me  cordially  by  the  hand  with  the 
manner  of  a  man  welcoming  a  distinguished  guest 
whom  he  had  not  seen  for  years  (I  had  just  arrived) ; 
bowed  to  Chad  as  if  he  had  been  one  of  a  long  line  of 
servants  awaiting  the  coming  of  their  lord  (festive 
occasions  always  produced  this  frame  of  mind  in  the 
Colonel);  laid  a  single  white  rose  beside  the  plates  of 
his  two  lady  guests — one  for  Miss  Carter  and  the  other 
for  Miss  Klutchem — and  glancing  around  the  apart 
ment  expressed  his  admiration  of  all  that  had  been 
done.  Then  he  settled  himself  in  his  easy  chair,  with 
his  feet  on  the  fender,  and  spread  his  moist,  newly- 
washed  hands  to  the  blaze. 

Aunt  Nancy  now  entered  in  a  steel-gray  silk  and  new 
cap  and  ribbons,  her  delicate,  frail  shoulders  covered 
by  a  light  scarf,  little  Jim  following  behind  her  with 
her  ball  of  yarn  and  needles,  and  a  low  stool  for  her 
feet.  The  only  change  in  Jim  was  a  straggly  groove 

65 


COLONEL  CARTER'S  CHRISTMAS 

down  the  middle  of  his  wool,  where  he  had  attempted 
a  "part"  like  Chad's. 

"I'm  glad  Mr.  Klutchem  is  comin',  Nancy,"  said 
the  Colonel  when  the  dear  lady  had  taken  her  seat  with 
Jim  behind  her  chair.  "From  what  you  tell  me  of 
his  home  I'm  afraid  that  he  must  pass  a  great  many 
lonely  hours.  And  then  again  I  cannot  forget  his 
generosity  to  a  friend  of  mine  once  in  his  hour  of 
trial." 

"  What  was  the  trouble  between  you  and  Mr.  Klut 
chem,  George?"  she  asked  in  reply,  spreading  out 
her  skirts  and  taking  the  knitting  from  Jim's  hands. 

The  Colonel  hesitated  and  for  a  moment  did  not  an 
swer.  Aunt  Nancy  raised  her  eyes  to  his  and  waited. 

"  I  differed  from  him  on  the  value  of  some  secu'ities, 
Nancy,  and  for  a  time  the  argument  became  quite 
heated." 

"And  it  left  some  ill-feeling?" 

"  Oh,  no;  on  the  contrary,  it  seemed  to  open  a  way 
for  an  important  settlement  in  a  friend's  affairs  which 
may  have  the  best  and  most  lastin'  results.  I  believe  I 
am  quite  within  the  mark,  Major,  when  I  make  that 
statement,"  added  the  Colonel,  turning  to  me. 

"No  doubt  of  it,  Colonel,"  I  answered.  "That 
same  friend  told  me  that  he  hadn't  enjoyed  anything 
so  much  for  years  as  Mr.  Klutchem's  visit  to  his  office 
that  morning." 

"  Well,  I  am  so  glad,"  said  Aunt  Nancy — "  so  glad ! " 
The  "  friend's"  name  had  been  too  obviously  concealed 
by  both  the  Colonel  and  myself  for  her  to  press  any 

66 


COLONEL  CARTER'S  CHRISTMAS 

inquiries  in  that  direction.     "And  you  have  not  seen 
the  daughter?"     She  continued. 

"  No,  Mr.  Klutchem  was  ill  at  a  friend's  house  when 
I  called  on  hirn  once  befo',  and  his  family  were  not  in 
the  room.  I  shall  have  that  pleasure  for  the  first  time 
when  she  arrives." 

Chad  now  entered,  bowed  low  to  his  Mistress,  his 
invariable  custom,  and  began  to  light  the  candles  on 
the  mantelpiece  and  sideboard,  and  then  those  in  the 
two  big  silver  candlesticks  which  decorated  each  end 
of  the  table,  with  its  covers  for  six.  Little  Jim  still 
stood  behind  his  Miss  Nancy's  chair:  he  was  not  to  be 
trusted  with  any  of  Chad's  important  duties. 

There  came  a  knock  at  the  door. 

"That's  dear  Fitz,"  said  the  Colonel.  "He  prom 
ised  to  come  early." 

Chad  looked  meaningly  at  the  scrap,  and  little  Jim, 
in  answer  to  the  sound  of  Fitz's  knuckles,  left  the  room, 
picking  up  his  "pan"  from  the  hall  table  as  he  an 
swered  the  summons. 

At  this  moment  the  dear  lady  dropped  her  ball  of 
yarn,  and  the  Colonel  and  I  stooped  down  to  recover 
it.  This  was  a  duty  from  which  even  Chad  was  re 
lieved  when  either  of  us  was  present.  While  we  were 
both  on  our  knees  groping  around  the  legs  of  the  side 
board,  the  door  opened  softly,  and  a  sweet,  low  voice 
said: 

"  Please,  I'm  Katy  Klutchem,  and  I've  come  to  the 
Christmas  tree." 

The  Colonel  twisted  his  head  quickly. 
67 


COLONEL  CARTER'S  CHRISTMAS 

A  little  girl  of  six  or  eight,  her  chubby  cheeks  aglow 
with  the  cold  of  the  winter  twilight,  a  mass  of  brown 
curls  escaping  from  her  hat  framing  a  pretty  face, 
stood  looking  at  him — he  was  still  on  his  knees — with 
wide,  wondering  eyes.  He  had  expected  to  welcome 
a  young  woman  of  twenty,  he  told  me  afterwards,  not  * 
a  child.  Aunt  Nancy  inadvertently,  perhaps,  or  be 
cause  she  supposed  he  knew,  had  omitted  any  refer 
ence  to  her  age.  I,  too,  had  fallen  into  the  same  error. 

The  dear  lady  without  rising  from  her  seat  held  out 
her  two  hands  joyously: 

"Oh,  you  darling  little  thing!  Come  here  until  I 
take  off  your  hat  and  coat." 

The  Colonel  had  now  risen  to  his  feet,  the  ball  of 
yarn  in  his  hand,  his  eyes  still  on  the  apparition.  No 
child  had  ever  stepped  foot  inside  the  cosy  quarters 
since  his  occupation.  Katy  returned  his  gaze  with 
that  steadfast,  searching  look  common  to  some  chil 
dren,  summing  up  by  intuition  the  dangers  and  the 
man.  Then,  with  her  face  breaking  into  a  smile  at  the 
Colonel,  she  started  towards  Aunt  Nancy. 

But  the  Colonel  had  come  to  his  senses  now. 

"So  you  are  not  a  grown-up  lady  at  all,"  he  cried, 
with  a  joyous  note  in  his  voice,  as  he  advanced  towards 
her,  "but  just  a  dear  little  girl." 

"Why,  did  you  think  I  was  grown-up?  I'm  only 
seven.  Oh,  what  a  nice  room,  and  is  the  Christmas 
tree  here?" 

"  It  is  not  lighted  yet,  dearie,"  replied  Aunt  Nancy, 
her  fingers  busy  with  the  top  button  of  the  child's 

68 


COLONEL  CARTER'S  CHRISTMAS 

cloak,  the  eager,  expectant  face  twisted  around  as  if 
she  was  looking  for  something.  "It's  over  there  in 
the  corner." 

"  Let  me  show  it  to  you,"  said  the  Colonel,  and  he 
took  her  hand.  "Major,  please  bring  one  of  the 
candles." 

The  child's  eyes  sought  the  Colonel's  face.  The 
first  look  she  had  given  him  as  she  entered  the  room 
had  settled  all  doubt  in  her  mind;  children  know  at  a 
glance  whom  they  can  trust. 

"Please  do,"  she  answered  simply,  and  her  grasp 
closed  over  his.  The  cloak  and  hat  were  off  now,  and 
Jim  was  bearing  them  upstairs  to  be  laid  on  Miss 
Nancy's  bed. 

As  the  small,  frail  hand  touched  his  own  I  saw  a 
strange  look  come  into  the  Colonel's  eyes.  It  was 
evidently  all  he  could  do  to  keep  from  stooping  down 
and  kissing  her. 

Instinctively  my  mind  went  back  to  a  night  not  long 
before  when  I  had  found  him  sitting  by  his  fire. 
"There  is  but  one  thing  in  all  the  world,  Major,"  he 
said  to  me  then,  "  sweeter  than  the  song  of  a  robin  in  the 
spring,  and  that  is  the  laughter  of  a  child." 

I  knew  therefore,  as  I  looked  at  these  two,  what  the 
little  hand  that  lay  in  his  meant  to  him. 

So  I  held  the  candle  and  the  Colonel  lighted  the  tip  end 
of  just  one  tiny  taper  to  show  her  how  it  burned,  and 
what  a  pretty  light  it  made  shining  through  the  green; 
and  Katy  clapped  her  hands  and  said  it  was  beauti 
ful,  and  such  a  darling  little  tree,  and  not  at  all  like 

69 


COLONEL  CARTER'S  CHRISTMAS 

the  big  one  in  the  Sunday  School  that  reached  nearly 
to  the  ceiling,  and  that  nobody  dared  to  touch.  And 
then  we  all  went  back  to  the  fire  and  the  Colonel's 
chair,  and  before  I  knew  it  he  had  her  by  his  side  with 
his  arm  around  her  shoulders,  telling  her  stories,  while 
Aunt  Nancy  and  Jim  and  I  sat  listening. 

And  so  absorbed  was  he  in  the  new  life,  and  so  happy 
with  the  child,  that  he  only  gave  Fitz  three  fingers  to 
shake  when  that  friend  of  his  heart  came  in,  and  never 
once  said  he  was  glad  to  see  him — an  unprecedented 
omission — and  never  once  made  the  slightest  allusion 
to  the  expected  guest  of  the  evening,  Mr.  Klutchem, 
now  that  his  daughter  had  turned  out  to  be  a  child  of 
seven  instead  of  a  full-grown  woman  of  twenty. 

The  Colonel  told  her  of  the  great  woods  behind 
Carter  Hall,  where  the  Christmas  tree  had  grown,  and 
the  fox  with  the  white  tail  that  lived  there,  and  that 
used  to  pop  into  his  hole  in  the  snow,  and  how  you'd 
pass  right  by  and  never  see  him  because  his  tail,  which 
was  the  biggest  part  of  him,  was  so  white;  and  the 
woodpeckers  that  bored  into  the  bark  with  their  long, 
sharp  bills;  and  finally  of  the  big  turkeys  that  strutted 
and  puffed  their  feathers  and  spread  their  tails  about 
and  ran  so  fast  nothing  could  catch  them. 

"  Not  even  a  dog  ?  "  interrupted  the  child.  She  had 
crawled  up  into  his  arms  now  and  was  looking  up  into 
his  face  with  wondering  eyes. 

"Dogs!"  answered  the  Colonel  contemptuously, 
"  why,  these  turkeys  would  be  up  and  gone  befo'  a  dog 
could  turn  'round." 

70 


"Tell  me  what  they  are  like.  Have  they  long — 
long  legs — so?"  and  she  stretched  out  her  arms. 

"Oh,  longer — terrible  long  legs — long  as  this" — 
and  the  Colonel's  arms  went  out  to  their  full  length. 

Jim's  eyes  were  now  popping  out  of  his  head,  but 
his  place  was  behind  his  Mistress's  chair,  ready  for  her 
orders,  and  he  had  had  so  many  scoldings  that  day 
that  he  thought  it  best  not  to  move. 

"  And  does  he  puff  himself  out  like  a  real  turkey  in 
the  picture  books  ?  " 

"Oh,  worse  than  a  real  turkey, — big  as  so" — and 
the  Colonel's  arms  went  round  in  a  circle. 

The  child  thought  hard  for  a  moment  until  she  had 
the  picture  of  the  strutting  gobbler  fastened  in  her 
mind,  and  said,  cuddling  closer  to  the  Colonel:  "Tell 
me  some  more." 

"About  turkeys?" 

"Yes,  about  turkeys." 

"About  wild  ones  or  tame  ones?" 

"Was  that  a  wild  one  that  the  dogs  couldn't 
catch?" 

"Yes." 

"  Then  tell  me  about  some  tame  ones.  Do  they  live 
in  the  woods?" 

"No,  they  live  in  the  barnyard  with  the  chickens, 
and  the  cows,  and  the  horses.  Why,  did  you  never 
see  one?" 

"  Yes,  but  I  want  to  hear  you  tell  about  them — that's 
better  than  seeing." 

Jim  could  hold  in  no  longer.     He  had  become  so 
71 


COLONEL  CARTER'S  CHRISTMAS 

excited  that  he  kept  rubbing  one  shoe  against  the  other, 
twisting  and  squirming  like  an  eel.  At  last  he  burst 
out: 

"  An'  one  o'  gobble-gobble  was  dat  ornery,  Mammy 
Henny  shut  him  up  in  de  coop!" 

Aunt  Nancy  turned  in  astonishment,  and  Chad, 
who  had  come  in  with  some  dishes,  was  about  to 
crush  him  with  a  look,  when  the  Colonel  said,  with  a 
sly  twinkle  in  his  eye: 

"What  did  he  do,  Jim?" 

"  Jes'  trompled  de  li'l  teeny  chickens  an'  eat  up  all 
de  corn  an'  wouldn't  let  nobody  come  nigh  him.  An' 
he  was  dat  swelled  up!" 

Katy  laughed,  and  turning  to  the  Colonel,  said: 

"  Tell  me  about  that  one." 

The  Colonel  ruminated  for  n,  moment,  looked  at 
Chad  with  a  half-humorous  expression,  and  motioned 
to  little  Jim  to  come  over  and  stand  by  his  chair  so  that 
he  could  hear  the  better,  his  own  arm  still  about  Katy, 
her  head  on  his  shoulder. 

"  About  that  big  gobbler,  Katy,  that  was  so  bad  they 
had  to  put  him  in  a  coop?" 

"Yes,  that  very  one." 

"  Well,  when  I  fust  knew  him  he  was  a  little  teeny 
turkey — oh,  not  near  so  high  as  Jim;  'bout  up  to 
Jim's  knees,  I  reckon.  He'd  follow  'round  after  his 
mammy  and  go  where  she  wanted  him  to  go  and  mind 
her  like  a  nice  little  turkey  as  he  was.  He  didn't  live 
on  my  plantation  then — he  lived  on  Judge  Barbour's 
plantation  next  to  mine.  Well,  one  day,  Aunt  Nancy 

72 


COLONEL  CARTER'S  CHRISTMAS 

• — that  dear  lady  over  there — wanted  a  fine  young  tur 
key,  and  this  little  knee-high  turkey  was  growin'  to 
he  a  big  turkey,  and  so  she  brought  him  over  and  gave 
him  the  run  of  the  barnyard. 

"  She  was  just  as  good  to  him  as  she  could  be.  She 
made  a  nice  clean  place  for  him  to  live  in,  so  his 
feathers  wouldn't  get  dirty  any  mo',  and  he  didn't  have 
to  run  'round  lookin'  for  grasshoppers  and  beetles  and 
little  worms  as  he  did  at  home,  but  he  had  a  nice  bowl 
of  mush  eve'y  day  and  a  place  to  go  to  sleep  in  all  by 
himself,  and  Aunt  Nancy  did  everythin'  she  could  to 
make  him  comfo'table. 

"  Well,  what  do  you  think  happened  ?  Just  as  soon 
as  that  turkey  found  out  he  was  bein'  taken  caare  of 
better  than  the  hens  and  the  roosters  and  all  the  other 
little  turkeys  he  had  left  at  home,  he  began  to  put  on 
airs.  He  breshed  his  feathers  out  and  he  strutted 
around  same  as  if  he  owned  the  whole  barnyard,  and 
he'd  go  down  to  the  pond  and  look  at  himself  in  the 
water;  and  he  got  so  proud  that  whenever  old  Mrs. 
Hen  or  old  Mr.  Rooster  would  say  '  Good-mornin' '  to 
him  as  kind  and  as  nice  as  could  be,  he  wouldn't  an 
swer  politely,  but  he'd  stick  up  his  head  and  go  '  Gob 
ble-gobble-gobble!'  and  then  he'd  swell  up  again  and 
puff  out  his  chest  and  march  himself  off.  Pretty  soon 
he  got  so  sassy  that  nobody  could  live  with  him.  Why, 
he  didn't  care  what  he  did  and  who  he  stepped  on. 
He  trampled  on  two  po'  little  chicks  one  day  that  were 
just  out  of  the  shell  and  mashed  them  flat  and  did  all 


sorts  of  dreadful  things." 


73 


COLONEL  CARTER'S  CHRISTMAS 

"What  an  awful  turkey!  Poor  little  chickens," 
sighed  Katy.  "  Go  on." 

"Next  thing  he  did  was  to  steal  off  and  smoke 
cigarettes." 

Katy  raised  her  head  and  looked  up  into  the  Colo 
nel's  eyes. 

"Why,  turkeys  can't  smoke,  can  they?" 

"Oh,  no — of  co'se  not — I  forgot.  That's  another 
story  and  I  got  them  mixed  up.  Where  was  I  ?  Oh, 
yes,  when  he  got  so  sassy." 

Katy  dropped  her  head  on  his  shoulder  again.  Jim 
was  now  listening  with  all  his  might,  his  only  fear  be 
ing  that  Chad  or  Miss  Nancy  or  the  knocker  on  the 
front  door  would  summon  him  before  the  story  was 
ended. 

"  Well,"  continued  the  Colonel,  "  that  went  on  and 
on  and  on  till  there  wasn't  any  livin'  with  him.  Even 
dear  Aunt  Nancy  couldn't  get  along  with  him,  which 
is  a  dreadful  thing  to  say  of  anybody.  So  one  day" — 
here  the  Colonel's  voice  dropped  to  a  tone  of  grave 
importance — "one  day — Mammy  Henny — that's  the 
wife  of  Chad  over  there  by  the  table,  crep'  up  behind 
this  wicked,  sassy  little  turkey,  when  he  was  swellin' 
around  so  big  he  couldn't  see  his  feet,  and  she  grabbed 
him  by  the  neck  and  two  legs,  and  befo'  he  knew 
where  he  was,  plump  he  went  into  a  big  coop,  and  the 
door  was  shut  tight.  He  hollered  and  squawked  and 
flapped  his  wings  terrible,  but  that  didn't  make  any 
diff'ence;  in  he  went  and  there  he  stayed.  He  pushed 
with  his  long  legs,  and  stuck  his  head  out  through  the 

74 


COLONEL  CARTER'S  CHRISTMAS 

slats,  and  did  all  he  could  to  get  out,  but  it  was  no  use. 
Next  day  Mammy  Henny  got  a  great  big  knife — oh, 
an  awful  long  knife — 

"How  long?"  asked  the  child. 

"  Oh,  a  dreadful  long  knife — 'most  as  long  as  Jim, 
here" — and  the  Colonel  laid  his  hand  on  the  boy's 
shoulder — "and  she  sharpened  it  on  a  big  grindstone, 
and  Mammy  Henny  put  some  corn  in  the  little  trough 
outside  the  slats,  and  when  this  bad,  wicked  turkey 
poked  his  head  out — WHACK — went  the  knife, 
and  off  went  his  head,  and  he  was  dead — dead — 
dead!" 

As  the  solemn  words  fell  from  his  lips,  the  Colonel 
broke  into  a  laugh,  and  in  a  burst  of  tenderness  threw 
his  arms  around  the  child  and  kissed  her  as  if  he  would 
like  to  eat  her  up. 

Katy  was  clapping  her  hands  now. 

"  Oh,  I'm  just  too  glad.  And  the  poor  little  chickies 
— served  him  just  right.  I  was  afraid  he'd  get  out 
and  run  away." 

The  Colonel  stole  a  look  at  Jim.  The  scrap  stood 
looking  into  the  fire,  a  wondering  expression  on  his 
face.  How  much  of  the  story  was  truth  and  how  much 
fiction  evidently  puzzled  Jim. 

During  the  telling  everybody  in  the  room,  Fitz, 
Miss  Nancy — all  of  us,  in  fact, — had  been  watching 
Katy's  delight  and  Jim's  eager  brown  face,  turned  to 
the  Colonel,  the  whites  of  his  eyes  big  as  saucers. 
Watching,  too,  the  Colonel's  impartial  manner  to  both 
of  his  listeners — black  and  white  alike — the  only  dis- 

75 


COLONEL  CARTER'S  CHRISTMAS 

tinction  being  that  the  black  boy  stood,  while  the  white 
child  lay  nestled  in  his  arms. 

Chad,  as  the  story  progressed,  had  crept  up  behind 
the  Colonel's  chair,  where  he  could  hear  without  being 
seen,  and  was  listening  as  eagerly  as  if  he  were  a  boy 
again.  He  had  often  told  me  that  his  old  master,  the 
Colonel's  father,  used  to  tell  him  and  the  Colonel 
stories  when  they  were  boys  together,  but  I  had  never 
seen  the  Colonel  in  the  role  before. 

When  the  allusion  to  the  cigarettes  escaped  the 
Colonel's  lips  a  smile  overspread  Chad's  visage,  and  a 
certain  triumphant  look  crept  into  his  eyes.  With  the 
child's  laughter  still  ringing  through  the  room,  Chad 
tapped  Jim  on  the  arm,  led  him  to  one  side,  held  his 
lean,  wrinkled  finger  within  an  inch  of  the  boy's  nose 
and  said  in  a  sepulchral  tone: 

"  Did  ye  hear  dat  ?  Do  ye  know  who  dat  sassy,  low 
lived,  mizzable,  no-count,  ornery  turkey  was,  dat  kep' 
a-swellin'  up,  thinkin'  he  was  free  an'  somebody  great 
till  dat  caarvin'  knife  tuk  his  head  off?  Dat's  you!" 

In  the  midst  of  this  scene,  Katy  still  in  the  Colonel's 
arms,  Aunt  Nancy  knitting  quietly,  talking  to  Fitz 
in  an  undertone,  and  I  forming  part  of  the  circle  around 
the  fire,  watching  the  Colonel's  delight  and  joy  over 
his  new  guest — the  dining-room  door  was  pushed  open, 
and  Mr.  Klutchem  stepped  in. 

"  I  found  the  outside  door  ajar,  Colonel,"  he  blurted 
out,  "and  heard  you  all  laughing,  and  so  I  just  walked 
in.  Been  here  long,  Katy?" 

76 


COLONEL  CARTER'S  CHRISTMAS 

For  an  instant  I  was  sorry  he  had  come;  it  was  like 
the  dropping  of  a  stone  into  a  still  pool. 

The  child  slid  out  from  the  Colonel's  lap,  with  an 
expression  on  her  face  as  if  she  had  been  caught  in 
,  some  act  she  should  be  ashamed  of,  and  stood  close  to 
the  Colonel's  chair,  as  if  for  protection.  Aunt  Nancy, 
Fitz,  and  I  rose  to  our  feet  to  welcome  the  newcomer. 
The  Colonel,  having  to  pull  himself  out  from  the 
depths  of  his  chair,  was  the  last  to  rise.  He  had  been 
so  absorbed  in  the  child  that  he  had  entirely  forgotten 
both  the  father  and  the  dinner.  It,  however,  never 
took  the  Colonel  long  to  recover  his  equilibrium  where 
a  matter  of  courtesy  was  concerned. 

"  My  dear,  Mr.  Klutchem,"  he  cried,  throwing  out 
his  chest,  and  extending  his  hand  graciously.  "This 
is,  indeed,  a  pleasure.  Permit  me  to  present  you  to 
my  aunt,  Miss  Caarter,  of  Virginia,  who  has  left  her 
home  to  gladden  our  Christmas  with  her  presence. 
The  gentlemen,  of  co'se,  you  already  know.  Yo'  little 
daughter,  suh,  is  a  perfect  sunbeam.  She  has  so  crept 
into  our  hearts  that  we  feel  as  if  we  never  wanted  her 
to  leave  us —  "  and  he  laid  his  hand  on  the  child's 
head. 

The  banker  shook  hands  with  Aunt  Nancy,  re 
marked  that  he  was  sorry  he  had  not  been  at  home 
when  she  called,  extended  the  same  five  fingers  to  me, 
and  again  in  turn  to  Fitz,  and  sat  down  on  the  edge 
of  a  chair  which  Jim  had  dragged  up  for  him.  Katy 
walked  over  and  stood  by  her  father's  knee.  Her 
holiday  seemed  over. 

77 


COLONEL  CARTER'S  CHRISTMAS 

"Rather  sharp  weather,  isn't  it?"  Mr.  Klutchem 
began,  rubbing  his  hands  and  looking  about  him. 
He  had  not  forgotten  the  cheeriness  of  the  rooms  the 
day  of  his  first  visit;  in  their  holiday  attire  they  were 
even  more  delightful.  "  I  suppose,  Colonel,  you  don't 
have  such  weather  in  your  State,"  he  continued. 

The  Colonel,  who  was  waiting  for  a  cue — any  cue 
served  the  Colonel,  weather,  politics,  finance,  every 
thing  but  morals  and  gossip,  these  he  never  discussed, 
launched  out  in  his  inimitable  way  describing  the 
varied  kinds  of  weather  indigenous  to  his  part  of  the 
State:  the  late  spring  frosts  with  consequent  damage 
to  the  peach  crop ;  the  heat  of  summer;  the  ice  storms 
and  the  heavy  falls  of  soft  snow  that  were  gone  by  mid 
day;  the  banker  describing  in  return  the  severities  of 
the  winters  in  Vermont,  his  own  State,  and  the  quality 
of  the  farming  land  which,  he  said,  with  a  dry  laugh, 
often  raised  four  stone  fences  to  the  acre,  and  some 
times  five. 

Before  the  two  had  talked  many  minutes  I  saw  to 
my  delight  that  the  waters  of  the  deep  pool  which  I 
feared  had  become  permanently  troubled  by  the  sud 
den  arrival  of  the  broker,  were  assuming  their  former 
tranquil  condition.  Aunt  Nancy  resumed  her  knitting 
awaiting  the  time  when  Chad  should  announce  dinner. 
Katy,  finding  that  her  father  had  no  immediate  use 
for  her — not  an  unusual  experience  with  Katy — 
moved  off  and  stood  by  Aunt  Nancy,  watching  the  play 
of  her  needles,  the  dear  lady  talking  to  her  in  a  low 
voice,  while  Fitz  and  I  put  our  heads  together,  and 

78 


COLONEL  CARTER'S  CHRISTMAS 

with  eyes  and  ears  open,  followed  with  close  attention 
the  gradual  thawing  out  of  the  hard  ice  of  the  practical 
man  of  affairs  under  the  warm  sun  of  the  Colonel's 
hospitality. 

Soon  the  long  expected  hour  arrived,  a  fact  made 
known  first  by  the  saddle-colored  female  to  Jim  stand 
ing  at  the  head  of  the  stairs,  and  who  promptly  con 
veyed  it  to  Chad's  ear  in  a  whisper  that  was  heard  all 
over  the  room,  and  finally  by  Chad  himself,  who  an 
nounced  the  welcome  news  to  Miss  Nancy  with  a  flour 
ish  that  would  have  done  credit  to  the  master  of  cere 
monies  at  a  Lord  Mayor's  banquet;  drawing  out  a 
chair  for  her  on  the  right  of  the  Colonel,  another  on 
his  left  for  Mr.  Klutchem,  and  a  third  for  Miss  Klutch- 
em,  who  was  seated  between  Fitz  and  me.  He  then 
stationed  Jim,  now  thoroughly  humbled  by  the  chast 
ening  he  had  received,  at  the  door  in  the  hall  to  keep 
open  an  unbroken  line  of  communication  between  the 
fragrant  kitchen  below  and  the  merry  table  above. 

The  seating  of  the  guests  brought  the  cosy  circle  to 
gether — and  what  a  picture  it  was:  The  radiance  of 
Aunt  Nancv's  face  as  she  talked  to  one  guest  and  an- 

tt 

other,  twisting  her  head  like  a  wren's  to  see  Mr. 
Klutchem  the  better  when  the  Colonel  stood  up  to 
carve  the  ducks:  and  the  benignant,  patriarchal, 
bless-you-my-children  smile  that  kept  irradiating  the 
Virginian's  visage  as,  knife  in  hand,  he  descanted  on 
the  various  edibles  and  drinkables  that  made  his  native 
County  a  rare  place  to  be  born  in;  and  Mr.  Klutchem's 
quiet,  absorbed  manner,  so  different  from  his  boister- 

79 


COLONEL  CARTER'S  CHRISTMAS 

ous  outbreaks — a  fact  which  astonished  Fitz  most  of 
all;  and  Katy's  unrestrained  laughter  breaking  in  at 
all  times  like  a  bird's,  and  Chad's  beaming  face  and 
noiseless  tread,  taking  the  dishes  from  Jim's  hands  as 
carefully  as  an  antiquary  would  so  many  curios,  and 
placing  them  without  a  sound  before  his  master — yes, 
all  these  things  indeed  made  a  picture  that  could  never 
be  forgotten. 

As  to  the  quality  and  toothsomeness  of  the  several 
and  various  dishes — roast,  broiled,  and  baked — that 
kept  constantly  arriving,  there  was,  there  could  be,  but 
one  opinion: 

Nobody  had  ever  seen  such  oysters;  nobody  had 
ever  eaten  such  terrapin!  Nobody  had  ever  tasted 
such  ducks! — so  Mr.  Klutchem  said,  and  he  ought  to 
have  known,  for  he  had  the  run  of  the  Clubs.  No 
body  had  crunched  such  celery  nor  had  revelled  in 
such  sweet  potatoes;  nor  had  anybody  since  the  be 
ginning  of  the  world  ever  smacked  their  lips  over  such 
a  ham. 

"  One  of  our  razor-backs,  Mr.  Klutchem,"  said  the 
Colonel;  "fed  on  acorns,  and  so  thin  that  he  can  jump 
through  a  palin'  fence  and  never  lose  a  hair.  When 
a  pig  down  our  way  gets  so  fat  that  a  darky  can  catch 
him,  we  have  no  use  for  him" — and  the  Colonel 
laughed — a  laugh  which  was  echoed  in  a  suppressed 
grin  by  Chad,  the  witticism  not  being  intended  for 
him. 

Soon  there  stole  over  every  one  in  the  room  that 
sense  of  peace  and  contentment  which  always  comes 

80 


COLONEL  CARTER'S  CHRISTMAS 

when  one  is  at  ease  in  an  atmosphere  where  love  and 
kindness  reign.  The  soft  light  of  the  candles,  the 
low,  rich  color  of  the  simple  room  with  its  festoons  of 
cedar  and  pine,  the  aroma  of  the  rare  wine,  and  espe 
cially  the  spicy  smell  of  the  hemlock  warmed  by  the 
burning  tapers — that  rare,  unmistakable  smell  which 
only  Christmas  greens  give  out  and  which  few  of  us 
know  but  once  a  year,  and  often  not  then;  all  had 
their  effect  on  host  and  guests.  Katy  became  so  happy 
that  she  lost  all  fear  of  her  father  and  prattled  on  to 
Fitz  and  me  (we  had  pinned  to  her  frock  the  rose  the 
Colonel  had  bought  for  the  "grown-up  daughter,"  and 
she  was  wearing  it  just  as  Aunt  Nancy  wore  hers),  and 
Aunt  Nancy  in  her  gentle  voice  talked  finance  to  Mr. 
Klutchem  in  a  way  that  made  him  open  his  eyes,  and 
Fitz  laughingly  joined  in,  giving  a  wide  berth  to  any 
thing  bearing  on  "corners"  or  "combinations"  or 
"shorts"  and  "longs,"  while  I,  to  spare  Aunt  Nancy, 
kept  one  eye  on  Jim,  winking  at  him  with  it  once  or 
twice  when  he  was  about  to  commit  some  foolishness, 
and  so  the  happy  feast  went  on. 

As  to  the  Colonel,  he  was  never  in  better  form.  To 
him  the  occasion  was  the  revival  of  the  old  Days  of 
Plenty — the  days  his  soul  coveted  and  loved:  his  to 
enjoy,  his  to  dispense. 

But  if  it  had  been  delightful  before,  what  was  it 
when  Chad,  after  certain  mysterious  movements  in  the 
next  room,  bore  aloft  the  crowning  glory  of  the  even 
ing,  and  placed  it  with  all  its  candles  in  the  centre  of 
the  table,  the  Colonel  leaning  far  back  in  his  chair  to 

81 


COLONEL  CARTER'S  CHRISTMAS 

give  him  room,  his  coat  thrown  wide,  his  face  aglow, 
his  eyes  sparkling  with  the  laughter  that  always  kept 
him  young! 

Then  it  was  that  the  Colonel  gathering  under  his 
hand  the  little  sheaf  of  paper  lamplighters  which  Chad 
had  twisted,  rose  from  his  seat,  picked  up  a  slender 
glass  that  had  once  served  his  father  ("only  seben  o' 
dat  kind  left,"  Chad  told  me)  and  which  that  faithful 
servitor  had  just  filled  from  the  flow  of  the  old  decanter 
of  like  period,  and  with  a  wave  of  his  hand  as  if  to  com 
mand  attention,  said,  in  a  clear,  firm  voice  that  indi 
cated  the  dignity  of  the  occasion: 

"My  friends, — my  vehy  dear  friends,  I  should  say, 
for  I  can  omit  none  of  you — certainly  not  this  little 
angel  who  has  captured  our  hearts,  and  surely  not  our 
distinguished  guest,  Mr.  Klutchem,  who  has  honored 
us  with  his  presence — befo'  I  kindle  with  the  torch  of 
my  love  these  little  beacons  which  are  to  light  each  one 
of  us  on  our  way  until  another  Christmas  season  over 
takes  us;  befo',  I  say,  these  sparks  burst  into  life,  I 
want  you  to  fill  yo'  glasses  (Chad  had  done  that  to  the 
brim — even  little  Katy's)  and  drink  to  the  health  and 
happiness  of  the  lady  on  my  right,  whose  presence  is 
always  a  benediction  and  whose  loyal  affection  is  one 
of  the  sweetest  treasures  of  my  life!" 

Everybody  except  the  dear  lady  stood  up — even  little 
Katy — and  Aunt  Nancy's  health  was  drunk  amid  her 
blushes,  she  remarking  to  Mr.  Klutchem  that  George 
wrould  always  embarrass  her  with  these  too  flattering 
speeches  of  his,  which  was  literally  true,  this  being  the 

82 


COLONEL  CARTER'S  CHRISTMAS 

fourth  time  I  had  heard  similar  sentiments  expressed 
in  the  dear  lady's  honor. 

This  formal  toast  over,  the  Colonel's  whole  manner 
changed.  He  was  no  longer  the  dignified  host  con 
ducting  the  feast  with  measured  grace.  With  a  spring 
in  his  voice  and  a  certain  unrestrained  joyousness,  he 
called  to  Chad  to  bring  him  a  light  for  his  first  lamp 
lighter.  Then,  with  the  paper  wisp  balanced  in  his 
hand,  he  began  counting  the  several  candles,  peeping 
into  the  branches  with  the  manner  of  a  boy. 

"  One — two — three — fo' — yes,  plenty  of  them,  but 
we  are  goin'  to  begin  with  the  top  one.  This  is  yours, 
Nancy — this  little  white  one  on  the  vehy  tip-top. 
Gentlemen,  this  top  candle  is  always  reserved  for  Miss 
Caarter,"  and  the  lighted  taper  kindled  it  into  a  blaze. 
"Just  like  yo'  eyes,  my  dear,  burnin'  steadily  and 
warmin'  everybody,"  and  he  tapped  her  hand  caress 
ingly  with  his  fingers.  "And  now,  where  is  that 
darlin'  little  Katy's — she  must  have  a  white  one,  too — 
here  it  is.  Oh,  what  a  brave  little  candle!  Not  a  bit 
of  sputterin'  or  smoke.  See,  dearie,  what  a  beautiful 
blaze!  May  all  your  life  be  as  bright  and  happy. 
And  here  is  Mr.  Klutchem's  right  alongside  of  Katy's 
— a  fine  red  one.  There  he  goes,  steady  and  clear  and 
strong.  And  Fitz — dear  old  Fitz.  Let's  see  what 
kind  of  a  candle  Fitz  should  have.  Do  you  know, 
Fitz,  if  I  had  my  way,  I'd  light  the  whole  tree  for  you. 
One  candle  is  absurd  for  Fitz!  There,  Fitz,  it's  off— 
another  red  one!  All  you  millionaires  must  have  red 
candles!  And  the  Major!  Ah,  the  Major!" — and 

83 


COLONEL  CARTER'S  CHRISTMAS 

he  held  out  his  hand  to  me — "  Let's  see — yaller  ?  No, 
that  will  never  do  for  you,  Major.  Pink?  That's 
better.  There  now,  see  how  fine  you  look  and  how 
evenly  you  burn — just  like  yo'  love,  my  dear  boy, 
that  never  fails  me." 

The  circle  of  the  table  was  now  complete;  each  guest 
had  a  candle  alight,  and  each  owner  was  studying  the 
several  wicks  as  if  the  future  could  be  read  in  their 
blaze:  Aunt  Nancy  with  a  certain  seriousness.  To 
her  the  custom  was  not  new;  the  memories  of  her  life 
were  interwoven  with  many  just  such  top  candles, — 
one  I  knew  of  myself,  that  went  out  long,  long  ago, 
and  has  never  been  rekindled  since. 

The  Colonel  stopped,  and  for  a  moment  we  thought 
he  was  about  to  take  his  seat,  although  some  wicks 
were  still  unlighted — his  own  among  them. 

Instantly  a  chorus  of  voices  went  up:  "You  have 
forgotten  your  own,  Colonel — let  me  light  this  one  for 
you,"  etc.,  etc.  Even  little  Katy  had  noticed  the 
omission,  and  was  pulling  at  my  sleeve  to  call  attention 
to  the  fact:  the  Colonel's  candle  was  the  only  one  she 
really  cared  for. 

"  One  minute —  "  cried  the  Colonel.  "  Time  enough ; 
the  absent  ones  fust" — and  he  stooped  down  and 
peered  among  the  branches — "yes, — that's  just  the 
very  one.  This  candle,  Mr.  Klutchem,  is  for  our  old 
Mammy  Henny,  who  is  at  Caarter  Hall,  carin'  for  my 
property,  and  who  must  be  pretty  lonely  to-day — ah, 
there  you  go,  Mammy! — blazin'  away  like  one  o'  yo' 
own  fires!" 

84 


COLONEL  CARTER'S  CHRISTMAS 

Three  candles  now  were  all  that  were  left  unlighted; 
two  of  them  side  by  side  on  the  same  branch,  a  brown 
one  and  a  white  one,  and  below  these  a  yellow  one 
standing  all  alone. 

The  Colonel  selected  a  fresh  taper,  kindled  it  in  the 
flame  of  Aunt  Nancy's  top  candle,  and  turning  to 
Chad,  who  was  standing  behind  his  chair,  said: 

"I'm  goin'  to  put  you,  Chad,  where  you  belong, — 
right  alongside  of  me.  Here,  Katy  darlin',  take  this 
taper  and  light  this  white  candle  for  me,  and  I'll  light 
the  brown  one  for  Chad,"  and  he  picked  up  another 
taper,  lighted  it,  and  handed  it  to  the  child. 

"Now!" 

As  the  two  candles  flashed  into  flame,  the  Colonel 
leaned  over,  and  holding  out  his  hand  to  the  old  ser 
vant — boys  together,  these  two,  said  in  a  voice  full  of 
tenderness: 

"Many  years  together,  Chad, — many  years,  old 
man." 

Chad's  face  broke  into  a  smile  as  he  pressed  the 
Colonel's  hand: 

"Thank  ye,  marster,"  was  all  he  trusted  himself 
to  say — a  title  the  days  of  freedom  had  never  robbed 
him  of — and  then  he  turned  his  head  to  hide  the 
tears. 

During  this  whole  scene  little  Jim  had  stood  on  tip 
toe,  his  eyes  growing  brighter  and  brighter  as  each 
candle  flashed  into  a  blaze.  Up  to  the  time  of  the 
lighting  of  the  last  guest  candle  his  face  had  expressed 
nothing  but  increasing  delight.  When,  however, 

85 


Mammy  Henny's  candle,  and  then  Chad's  were 
kindled,  I  saw  an  expression  of  wonderment  cross  his 
features  which  gradually  settled  into  one  of  profound 
disappointment. 

But  the  Colonel  had  not  yet  taken  his  seat.  He 
had  relighted  the  taper — this  time  from  Mammy  Hen- 
ney's  candle — and  stood  with  it  in  his  hand,  peering 
into  the  branches  as  if  looking  for  something  he 
had  lost. 

"Ah,  here's  another.  I  wonder — who — this — little 
— yaller — candle — can — be — for,"  he  said  slowly, 
looking  around  the  room  and  accentuating  each  word. 
"  I  reckon  they're  all  here — Let  me  see — Aunt  Nancy, 
Mr.  Klutchem,  Katy,  Fitz,  the  Major,  Mammy  Henny, 
Chad,  and  me — Yes — all  here — Oh!  !"  and  he  looked 
at  the  boy  with  a  quizzical  smile  on  his  face — "  I  came 
vehy  near  forgettin.' 

"  This  little  yaller  candle  is  Jim's." 

When  it  was  all  over;  and  Aunt  Nancy  herself  had 
tied  on  Katy's  hat  and  tucked  the  tippet  into  her  neck, 
and  buttoned  her  coat  so  that  not  a  breath  of  cold  air 
could  get  inside;  and  when  Jim  stood  holding  Mr. 
Klutchem's  hat  in  the  hall,  with  Chad  but  a  few  feet 
away;  and  when  Mr.  Klutchem  had  said  good-by 
to  Aunt  Nancy,  and  had  turned  to  take  the  extended 
hand  of  the  Colonel,  I  heard  the  banker  say,  in  a  voice 
as  if  a  tear  had  choked  it: 

"Carter,  you're  mighty  good  stuff  and  I  like  you. 
What  you've  taught  me  to-night  I'll  never  forget. 

86 


COLONEL  CARTER'S  CHRISTMAS 

Katy  never  had  a  mother,  and  I  know  now  she's  never 
had  a  home.     Good-night." 

"Come,  Katy,  I  guess  I'll  carry  you,  little  girl— 
and  he  picked  up  the  child,  wound  her  reluctant  arms 
-  about  his  neck,  and  went  out  into  the  night. 


87 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  AN 
OLD-FASHIONED  GENTLEMAN 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  AN 
OLD-FASHIONED   GENTLEMAN 


Blossom  week  in  Maryland !  The  air  steeped  in  per 
fume  and  soft  as  a  caress;  the  sky  a  luminous  gray  in 
terwoven  with  threads  of  silver,  flakings  of  pearl  and 
tiny  scales  of  opal. 

All  the  hill-sides  smothered  in  bloom — of  peach, 
cherry,  and  pear;  in  waves,  windrows  and  drifts  of 
pink  and  ivory7.  Here  and  there,  fluffy  white,  a  single 
tree  upheld  like  a  bride's  bouquet  ready  for  my  lady's 
hand  when  she  goes  to  meet  her  lord.  In  the  marshes 
flames  of  fringed  azaleas  and  the  tracings  of  budding 
birch  and  willow  outspread  like  the  sticks  of  fans.  At 
their  feet,  shouldering  their  way  upward,  big  dock 
leaves — vigorous,  lusty  leaves — eager  to  flaunt  their 
verdure  in  the  new  awakening.  Everywhere  the  joy 
ous  songs  of  busy  birds  fresh  from  the  Southland- 
flying  shuttles  these,  of  black,  blue  and  brown,  weav 
ing  homes  in  the  loom  of  branch  and  bud. 

To  the  trained  eye  of  young  Adam  Gregg,  the 
painter,  all  this  glory  of  blossom,  hill-side,  and  pearly 
tinted  sky  came  as  a  revelation  and  a  delight.  Draw 
ing  rein  on  his  sorrel  mare  he  raised  himself  in  his  stir- 

91 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  AN 

rups  and  swept  his  glance  over  the  landscape,  feasting 
his  eyes  on  the  note  of  warmth  in  the  bloom  of  the 
peach — a  blossom  unknown  to  his  more  northern  clime, 
on  the  soft  brown  of  the  pastures,  and  on  the  filmy  blue 
of  the  distant  hills  melting  into  the  gray  haze  of  the 
April  morning.  Suddenly  a  thrill  shot  through  him 
and  a  fresh  enthusiasm  rose  in  his  heart:  with  all  this 
wealth  of  color  about  him,  what  would  not  his  brush 
accomplish. 

Swinging  in  his  seat  he  readjusted  the  rain-cloak  and 
painting-kit  that  were  strapped  to  his  saddle-bags,  and 
rode  on,  his  slouch  hat  pushed  back  from  his  forehead 
to  cool  his  brow,  his  gray  riding-coat  unbuttoned  and 
hanging  loose,  the  brown  riding-boots  gripped  about 
the  mare's  girth. 

As  he  neared  his  destination  the  concluding  lines  of 
the  letter  of  introduction  tucked  away  in  his  pocket  kept 
recurring  to  his  mind.  He  was  glad  his  subject  was  to 
be  a  woman — one  near  his  own  age.  Women  under 
stood  him  better,  and  he  them.  It  was  the  face  and 
shoulders  of  a  young  and  pretty  woman — and  a  coun 
tess,  too — which  had  won  for  him  his  first  Honorable 
Mention  in  Munich.  Would  he  be  as  lucky  with  the 
face  and  shoulders  of  the  "  beautiful  girl-wife  of  Judge 
Colton"? 

Soon  the  chimneys  and  big  dormer-windows  of  Der- 
wood  Manor,  surmounting  the  spacious  colonial  porch 
with  its  high  pillars,  rose  above  the  skirting  of  trees. 
Then  came  the  quaint  gate  with  its  brick  posts  topped 
by  stone  urns,  through  which  swept  a  wide  road  bor- 

92 


OLD-FASHIONED  GENTLEMAN 

dered  by  lilac  bushes  Dismounting  at  the  horse-block 
the  young  painter  handed  the  reins  to  a  negro  boy  who 
had  advanced  to  meet  him,  and,  making  his  way 
through  a  group  of  pickaninnies  and  snuffing  hounds, 
mounted  the  porch. 

The  Judge  was  waiting  for  him  on  the  top  step  with 
both  hands  outstretched  in  welcome;  a  man  of  fifty, 
smooth-shaven,  with  iron-gray  hair,  a  thin,  straight 
mouth  and  a  jaw  as  square  as  a  law  book. 

"You  needn't  look  for  your  letter,  Mr.  Gregg,"  he 
exclaimed  heartily.  "The  nephew  of  my  old  class 
mate  is  always  a  welcome  guest  at  Derwood  Manor. 
We  have  been  expecting  you  all  the  morning —  "  and 
the  Judge  shook  the  young  man's  hand  as  if  he  had 
known  him  from  babyhood.  It  was  in  the  early  fifties 
and  the  hatreds  of  later  years  were  unknown  among 
men  of  equal  social  position  in  a  land  where  hospitality 
was  a  religion.  "  Let  me  present  you  to  Mrs.  Colton 
and  my  little  son,  Phil." 

Adam  turned,  and  it  seemed  to  him  as  if  the  glory  of 
all  the  blossoms  he  had  seen  that  day  had  gone  into  the 
making  of  a  woman.  Dressed  all  in  white,  a  wide  blue 
sash  about  her  slender  waist;  graceful  as  a  budding 
branch  swaying  in  a  summer  wind;  with  eyes  like  rifts 
of  blue  seen  through  clouds  of  peach  bloom;  hair  of 
spun  gold  in  lifted  waves  about  her  head,  one  loosened 
curl  straying  over  her  beautiful  shoulders;  mouth  and 
teeth  a  split  pomegranate  studded  with  seeds  of  pearl 
— she  seemed  the  very  embodiment  of  all  the  freshness, 
beauty,  and  charm  of  the  awakening  spring. 

93 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  AN 

Instantly  all  the  flesh  tones  from  rose  madder  and 
cadmium  to  indigo-blue  ran  riot  in  his  head.  "  What 
coloring,"  he  kept  saying  to  himself — "What  a  skin, 
and  the  hair  and  shoulders,  and  the  curl  that  breaks 
the  line  of  the  throat — never  was  there  such  a  woman!" 

Even  as  he  stood  looking  into  her  eyes,  pretending 
to  listen  to  her  words  of  welcome,  he  was  deciding  on 
the  colors  he  would  use  and  the  precise  pose  in  which 
he  would  paint  her. 

"And  it  is  such  a  delight  to  have  you  with  us,"  she 
was  saying  in  joyous  tones,  as  though  his  coming 
brought  a  holiday.  "When  I  knew  you  were  to  be 
here  I  began  right  away  to  build  castles.  You  are  to 
paint  my  portrait  first,  and  then  you  are  to  paint  Phil's. 
Isn't  that  it,  Judge?  Come  Phil,  dear,  and  shake 
hands  with  Mr.  Gregg." 

"  Whichever  you  please,"  Adam  replied  simply,  the 
little  boy's  hand  in  his.  "  I  only  hope  I  shall  be  able 
to  do  justice  to  you  both.  It  will  be  my  fault  if  I  don't 
with  all  this  beauty  about  me.  I  am  really  dazed  by 
these  wonderful  fruit-trees." 

"Yes,  we're  going  to  have  a  good  season,"  exclaimed 
the  Judge — "best  we  have  had  for  years,  peaches 
especially.  W7e  expect  a 

"  Oh,  I  only  meant  the  coloring,"  interrupted  Gregg, 
his  cheeks  flushing.  "  It's  wonderfully  lovely." 

"And  you  don't  have  spring  blossoms  North?" 
asked  Mrs.  Colton.  Her  own  eyes  had  been  drinking 
in  the  charm  of  his  personality;  no  color-schemes  or 
palette-tones  were  interesting  her.  The  straight,  lithe, 

94 


OLD-FASHIONED  GENTLEMAN 

figure,  square  shoulders,  open,  honest  face,  sunny 
brown  eyes,  with  the  short,  crisp  hair  that  curled  about 
the  temples,  meant  something  alive  and  young:  some 
thing  that  could  laugh  when  she  laughed  and  be 
merry  over  little  things. 

"Yes,  of  course,  but  not  this  glorious  rose-pink," 
the  young  painter  burst  out  enthusiastically.  "  If  it 
will  only  last  until  I  finish  your  portrait!  It's  really 
your  month  to  be  painted  in,  Mrs.  Colton.  You  have 
all  of  Sully's  harmonies  in  your  coloring — pink,  white, 
blue" — he  wTas  still  looking  into  her  eyes — "The  great 
Thomas  should  have  seen  you  first,  I  am  only  his  hum 
ble  disciple,"  and  he  shrugged  his  square  shoulders  in 
a  modest  way« 

"And  what  about  Phil?"  she  laughed,  catching  the 
fire  of  his  enthusiasm  as  she  drew  the  boy  closer  to  her 
side. 

"Well,  I  should  try  him  in  October.     He  has"- 
and  he  glanced  at  the  Judge — "  his  father's  brown  eyes 
and  dark  skin.     Nuts  and  autumn  leaves  and  red  ber 
ries  go  best  with  that,"  he  added,  as  he  ran  his  fingers 
through  the  boy's  short  curls. 

"And  an  old  fellow  like  me,  I  suppose,  you'd  paint 
with  a  foot  of  snow  on  the  ground,"  laughed  the  Judge 
dryly.  "  Well — anything  to  please  Olivia.  Come,  all 
of  you,  dinner  is  waiting!" 

The  warmth  of  the  greeting  was  as  great  a  surprise 
to  the  young  Northerner  as  the  wealth  of  the  out-of- 
door  bloom.  He  had  been  hospitably  received  in  sim- 

95 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  AN 

ilar  journeys  in  his  own  State,  but  never  quite  like  this. 
There  it  was  a  matter  of  business  until  he  had  become 
"better  acquainted,"  even  when  he  stayed  in  the 
houses  of  his  patrons.  He  remembered  one  old  farmer 
\vho  \vanted  to  put  him  in  a  room  over  the  stable  with 
the  hired  man,  and  another,  a  mill-owner,  who  de 
ducted  the  sum  of  his  board  from  the  price  of  the  pict 
ure,  but  here  he  had  been  treated  as  one  of  the  family 
from  the  moment  his  foot  touched  their  door-step. 
The  Judge  had  not  only  placed  him  on  his  right  hand 
at  table,  but  had  sent  old  Bundy,  the  family  butler, 
down  into  the  wine-cellar  for  a  bottle  of  old  Madeira, 
that  had  "rusted  away  in  his  cellar,"  he  said,  for  thirty 
years,  and  which  he  would  open  in  remembrance  of  his 
college  days,  when  his  guest's  uncle  was  his  chum  and 
classmate. 

Several  days  had  passed  before  he  would  even  allow 
Adam  to  take  out  his  brushes  and  prepare  his  canvas 
for  work;  his  explanation  being  that  as  he  was  obliged  to 
go  on  Circuit,  he  would  like  to  enjoy  his  visitor's  society 
before  he  left.  There  would  be  plenty  of  time  for  the 
picture  while  he  was  away.  Then  it  too  would  come 
as  a  full  surprise  on  his  return — not  a  half-completed 
picture  showing  the  work  of  days,  but  a  finished  por 
trait  alive  not  only  with  the  charm  of  the  sitter,  but  with 
the  genius  of  the  master.  This  was  proclaimed  with  a 
courteous  wave  of  his  hand  to  his  wife  and  Adam,  as  if 
she,  too,  would  be  held  responsible  for  the  success  of 
the  portrait. 

The  morning  before  his  departure  he  called  Olivia 
96 


OLD-FASHIONED  GENTLEMAN 

and  Adam,  and  the  three  made  a  tour  of  the  rooms  in 
search  of  a  suitable  place  where  his  easel  could  be  set 
up  and  the  work  begun.  All  three  admitted  that  the 
study  was  too  dark,  and  so  was  the  library  unless  the 
vines  were  cleared  from  the  windows,  which  was,  of 
course,  out  of  the  question,  the  Judge's  choice  finally 
resting  on  one  corner  of  the  drawing-room,  where  a 
large  window  let  in  a  little  more  light.  In  acquiescence 
the  young  painter  drew  back  the  curtains  and  placed 
his  subject  first  on  the  sofa  and  then  in  an  arm-chair, 
and  again  standing  by  the  sash,  and  once  more  leaning 
over  the  window-sill;  but  in  no  position  could  he  get 
what  he  wanted. 

"Suit  yourselves,  then,"  said  the  Judge,  "and  pick 
out  your  own  place,  and  make  yourselves  as  comfort 
able  as  you  can — only  don't  hurry  over  it.  I  shall  not 
be  back  for  a  month,  and  if  that  is  not  time  enough, 
why,  we  have  all  summer  before  us.  As  to  your  other 
comforts,  my  dear  Adam — and  I  rejoice  to  see  you 
know  a  good  bottle  of  wine  when  you  taste  it — I  have 
given  Bundy  express  orders  to  decant  for  you  some  of 
the  old  Tiernan  of  '28,  which  is  a  little  dryer  than  even 
that  special  bottle  of  the  Madeira  you  liked  so  well. 
My  only  regret  is  that  I  cannot  share  it  with  you.  And 
now  one  word  more  before  I  say  good-by,  and  that  is 
that  I  must  ask  you,  my  dear  Gregg,  to  do  all  you  can 
to  keep  Mrs.  Colton  from  becoming  lonely.  You  will, 
of  course,  as  usual,  accompany  her  in  her  afternoon 
rides,  and  I  need  not  tell  you  that  my  own  horses  are  at 
your  disposal.  When  I  return  I  hope  to  be  welcomed 

97 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  AN 

by  two  Olivias;  one  which  by  your  genius  you  will  put 
on  canvas,  and  the  other" — and  he  bowed  grandilo 
quently  to  his  wife — "I  leave  in  your  charge." 

The  young  painter  took  the  first  opportunity  to  dis 
charge  his  duty — an  opportunity  afforded  him  when 
the  Judge,  after  kissing  his  wife  and  shaking  hands 
with  Adam  the  morning  he  left,  had  stepped  into  his 
gig,  his  servant  beside  him,  and  with  a  lifting  of  his  hat 
in  punctilious  courtesy,  had  driven  down  between  the 
lilacs.  It  may  have  been  gallantry  or  it  may  have  been 
the  pathetic  way  in  which  she  waved  her  handkerchief 
in  return  that  roused  the  boyish  sympathy  in  his  heart: 

"  Don't  worry,"  he  said  in  a  voice  full  of  tenderness. 
"  He  won't  be  long  gone — only  a  month,  he  says;  and 
don't  be  unhappy — I'm  going  to  do  everything  to  cheer 
you  up." 

"  But  I'm  never  lonely,"  she  answered  with  an  air  of 
bravado,  "and  I  try  never  to  be  unhappy.  I  always 
have  Phil.  And  now,"  and  she  broke  out  into  a  laugh, 
"  I  have  you,  and  that  makes  me  feel  just  as  I  did  as  a 
girl  when  one  of  the  boys  came  over  to  play  with  me. 
Come  upstairs,  right  away,  and  let  me  show  you  the  big 
garret.  I'm  just  crazy  to  see  you  begin  work,  and  I 
really  believe  that's  the  best  place,  after  all.  It's  full 
of  old  trunks  and  furniture,  but  there's  a  splendid  win 
dow " 

"On  which  side  of  the  house,  north  or  south?  I 
must  have  a  north  light,  you  know." 

"Yes — north;  looking  straight  up  into  your  freez 
ing  cold  country,  sir!  This  way!  Come  along!"  she 


OLD-FASHIONED  GENTLEMAN 

cried  joyously  as  she  mounted  the  stairs,  little  Phil,  as 
usual,  tumbling  after  them. 

Adam  entered  first  and  stood  in  the  middle  of  the 
floor  looking  about  him. 

"Superb!"  he  cried.  "Just  the  very  place!  What 
a  magnificent  light — so  direct,  and  not  a  reflection  from 
anything." 

It  was,  indeed,  an  ideal  studio  to  one  accustomed  to 
the  disorder  of  beautiful  things.  Not  only  was  there 
a  hip  roof,  with  heavy,  stained  beams  and  brown 
shingles,  but  near  its  crotch  opened  a  wide,  round- 
topped  window  which  shed  its  light  on  the  dilapidated 
relics  of  two  generations — old  spinning-wheels,  hair 
trunks,  high-post,  uncoupled  bedsteads;  hair-cloth 
sofas,  and  faded  curtains  of  yellow  damask,  while  near 
the  door  rested  an  enormous  jar  brought  up  from  the 
garden  to  catch  the  drip  of  a  leaky  shingle — all  so  much 
lumber  to  Olivia,  but  of  precious  value  to  the  young 
painter,  especially  the  water  jar,  which  reminded  him 
of  those  he  had  seen  in  Sicily  when  he  was  tramping 
through  its  villages  sketching. 

"  Just  the  place — oh,  wonderful!  Wonderful!  Let 
me  shout  down  for  Bundy  and  we'll  move  everything 
into  shape  right  away." 

"Are  you  going  to  take  them  out  or  push  them 
back?"  exclaimed  Olivia,  her  eyes  growing  wide  with 
wonder  as  she  watched  him  begin  work. 

"  No,  not  going  to  move  out  one  of  them.  You  just 
wait — I'll  show  you!"  The  boy  in  him  was  coming 
out  now. 

99 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  AN 

And  Olivia  did  wait,  uttering  little  cries  of  delight  or 
inquiry  meanwhile,  as  she  tripped  after  him,  her  skirts 
lifted  above  her  dainty  ankles  to  keep  them  from  the 
dust.  "Oh,  that  ugly  old  bureau;  shan't  we  send  it 
away?"  followed  by  "Yes,  I  do  think  that's  better." 
And,  "Oh,  are  you  going  to  put  that  screen  there!" 
gouty  old  Bundy  joining  in  with  "  Well,  fo'  de  Lawd, 
Miss  'Livy,  I  neber  did  see  no  ol'  truck  come  to  life 
agin  befo'  by  jes'  shovin'  it  'roun'." 

"And  now  get  a  sheet!"  cried  Adam,  when  every 
thing  had  been  arranged  to  his  liking.  "We'll  tack 
it  across  the  lower  half  of  the  window.  Then  Bundy, 
please  go  down  and  bring  up  two  buckets  of  water  and 
pour  it  into  this  jar.  Now,  Mrs.  Colton,  come  along, 
you  and  I  will  bring  up  blossoms  enough  to  fill  it,"  and 
the  two  dashed  downstairs  and  out  into  the  orchard 
with  a  swoop  of  two  swallows  out  for  an  airing. 

Even  Bundy  had  to  admit  to  old  Dinah,  when  he  had 
returned  to  the  kitchen,  that  the  transformation  of  a 
lumber-room  into  a  cosy  studio  was  little  less  than 
miraculous. 

"  Dat  painter  gemman  do  beat  de  Ian',"  he  chuckled. 
"Got  dat  ol*  garret  lookin'  like  a  parlor  fixed  up  for 
comp'ny.  Ye  oughter  see  dem  ol'  hair-backs  wid  de 
bottoms  busted — got  'em  kivered  up  wid  dem  patch 
work  bedspreads  an'  lookin'  like  dey  was  fit  for  de  ol' 
mist'ess's  bedroom.  An'  he's  got  dem  ol'  yaller  cut'- 
ains  we  useter  hab  in  de  settin'-room  hung  on  de  fo'- 
posters  as  sort  o'  screens  fencin'  off  one  corner  ob  de 
room  jes'  by  de  do'.  Dat  ol'  carpet's  spread  out;  dat 

100 


OLD-FASHIONED  GENTLEMAN 

one-legged  spinnin'-wheel's  propped  up  and  standin* 
roun';  dem  ol'  stable  lanterns  is  hung  to  de  rafters. 
I  clar'  to  goodness,  ye  wouldn't  believe!  Now  dey  jes' 
sont  me  down  for  two  buckets  o'  water  to  fill  dat  ol' 
jar  we  useter  hab  settin'  out  here  on  de  po'ch.  He  and 
de  young  mist'ess  is  out  now  lookin'  for  peach  blossoms 
to  fill  it.  He's  a  wonder,  I  tell  ye!" 

The  masses  of  blossoms  arranged  in  the  big  jar — 
the  tops  of  their  branches  reaching  the  water-stained 
roof;  a  canvas  for  a  half-length  tacked  on  a  stretcher 
and  placed  on  an  improvised  easel,  Adam  began  pry 
ing  into  the  dark  corners  for  a  seat  for  his  model, 
Olivia  following  his  every  movement,  her  eyes  twice 
their  usual  size  in  her  ever-increasing  astonishment 
and  delight. 

"  Hello,  here's  just  the  thing!"  he  shouted,  dragging 
out  a  high-back  chair  with  some  of  the  lower  rungs 
gone,  and  dusting  it  off  with  his  handkerchief.  "Sit 
here  and  let  me  see  how  the  light  falls.  No,  that  isn't 
good;  that  dress  won't  do  at  all."  (The  gown  came 
too  far  up  on  her  neck  to  suit  this  artistic  young  gentle 
man's  ideas  regarding  the  value  of  curved  lines  in  por 
traiture.)  "  That  collar  spoils  everything.  Can't  you 
wear  something  else?  I'd  rather  see  you  in  full  dress. 
I  want  the  line  of  the  throat  ending  in  the  sweep  of  the 
shoulder,  and  then  I  want  the  long  curl  against  the 
flesh  tones.  You  haven't  worn  your  hair  that  way 
since  I  came;  and  where's  the  dress  you  had  on  the 
day  I  arrived?  The  colors  suited  you  perfectly.  I 
shall  never  forget  how  you  looked — it  was  all  blossoms, 

101 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  AN 

you  and  everything — and  the  background  of  the  dark 
door,  and  the  white  of  the  porch  columns,  with  just  a 
touch  of  yellow  ochre  to  break  it —  Oh,  it  was  de 
licious!  Please,  now,  put  that  dress  on  again  and  wear 
a  low-neck  waist  with  it.  The  flesh  tones  of  the  throat 
and  shoulders  will  be  superb  and  I  know  just  how  to 
harmonize  them  with  this  background." 

It  was  the  picture,  not  the  woman,  that  filled  his  soul. 
Flesh  tones  heightened  by  a  caressing,  lingering  curl, 
and  relieved  by  green  leaves  and  flowers,  were  what 
had  made  the  Munich  picture  a  success. 

"But  I  haven't  any  low-necked  gowns.  Those  I 
had  when  I  was  married  are  all  worn  out,  and  I've 
never  needed  any  since.  My  nearest  neighbors  are 
ten  miles  away,  and  half  the  time  I  dine  with  only 
Phil." 

"Well,  but  can't  you  fix  something?"  persisted 
Adam,  bent  on  the  composition  he  had  in  his  mind. 
"  Everybody's  been  so  good  to  me  here  I  want  this  por 
trait  to  be  the  very  best  I  can  do.  What  is  in  these 
trunks?  There  must  be  some  old  dresses  belonging 
to  somebody's  grandmother  or  somebody's  aunt.  Do 
you  mind  my  opening  this  one?  It's  unlocked." 

Adam  lifted  the  lid.  A  faded  satin  gown  belonging 
to  the  Judge's  mother  lay  on  the  top.  The  old  lady 
had  been  born  and  brought  up  under  this  roof,  and  was 
still  alive  when  the  Judge's  first  wife  died. 

"  Here's  the  very  thing." 

"And  you  really  want  that  old  frock?  All  right, 
Mr.  Autocrat,  I'll  run  down  and  put  it  on." 

102 


OLD-FASHIONED  GENTLEMAN 

She  was  like  a  child  dressing  for  her  first  party. 
Twice  did  her  hair  fall  about  her  shoulders  and  twice 
must  she  gather  it  up,  fingering  carefully  the  long  curl, 
putting  it  into  place;  hooking  the  bodice  so  that  all  its 
modesty  would  be  preserved  and  yet  the  line  of  the 
throat  show  clear,  shaking  out  the  full,  pannier-like 
skirt  until  it  stood  out  quite  to  her  liking.  Then  with 
a  mock  curtsey  to  herself  in  the  glass,  she  dashed  out 
of  the  room,  up  the  narrow  stairs  and  into  the  gar 
ret  again  before  he  had  had  time  to  sort  over  his 
brushes. 

"Lovely!"  he  burst  out  enthusiastically  when  she 
had  whirled  round  so  he  could  see  all  sides  of  her. 
"It's  more  beautiful  than  the  one  I  first  saw  you  in. 
Now  you  look  like  a  bit  of  old  Dresden  china — No, 
I  think  you  look  like  a  little  French  queen.  No,  I 
don't  know  what  you  do  look  like,  only  you're  the  love 
liest  thing  I  ever  saw!" 

The  gown  fitted  her  perfectly;  part  of  her  neck  was 
bare,  the  single  curl,  just  as  he  wranted  it,  straying  over 
it.  Then  came  the  waist  of  ivory-white  flowered  satin 
with  elbow  sleeves,  and  then  the  puffy  panniers  drooped 
about  the  slender  bodice.  As  he  drank  in  her  beauty 
the  blood  went  tingling  through  his  veins.  He  had 
thought  her  lovely  that  first  morning  when  he  saw  her 
on  the  porch:  then  she  was  all  blossoms;  now  she 
was  a  vision  of  the  olden  time  for  whose  lightest  smile 
brave  courtiers  fought  and  bled. 

"That's  it,  keep  your  head  up!"  he  cried,  as  with 
many  stoppings  backward  and  forward,  he  conducted 

103 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  AN 

her  to  the  old  chair,  and  with  the  air  of  a  grand  cham 
berlain  placed  her  upon  it,  adding  in  rnock  gallantry: 

"  Sit  there,  fair  lady  mine,  while  your  humble  slave 
makes  obeisance.  To  touch  the  hem  of  your  garment 
would  be —  Oh,  but  aren't  you  lovely!  And  the  tone 
of  old  ivory  in  the  satin,  and  the  exquisite  flesh  notes — 
and  the  way  the  curl  lies  on  the  shoulder!  You  are 
adorable!" 

And  so  the  picture  was  begun. 

The  hours  and  the  days  that  followed  were  hours 
and  days  of  never-ending  joy  and  frolic.  While  it  was 
still  "Mr.  Gregg"  and  "Mrs.  Col  ton,"  it  was  as  often 
"Uncle  Adam"  by  little  Phil  (the  three  were  never 
separated)  and  now  and  then  "Marse  Adam"  by  old 
Bundy,  who  sought  in  this  way  to  emphasize  his  mas 
ter's  injunction  to  "look  after  Mr.  Gregg's  comfort." 

Nor  did  the  supervision  stop  here.  Under  Olivia's 
instructions  and  with  Bundy's  help,  the  big  dining- 
room  table,  with  the  Judge's  seat  at  one  end,  hers  at 
the  other,  and  little  Phil  in  his  high  chair  in  the  middle, 
was  given  up  and  moved  out  as  being  altogether  too 
formal  and  the  seats  too  far  apart,  and  a  small  one, 
sprinkled  daily  with  fresh  damask  roses  that  she  herself 
had  culled  from  the  garden,  was  substituted.  The 
great  window  in  the  library,  which  had  always  been 
kept  closed  by  reason  of  a  draught  which  carromed  on 
the  door  of  the  study  and  struck  the  Judge  somewhere 
between  his  neck  and  his  shoulders,  was  now  thrown 
wide  and  kept  wide,  and  the  porch  chairs,  three  of 
them,  which  had  precise  positions  fixed  for  them  be- 

104 


OLD-FASHIONED  GENTLEMAN 

tween  the  low  windows,  were  dragged  out  under  the 
big  apple-tree  shading  the  lawn  and  moved  up  to  an 
other  table  that  Bundy  had  carried  down  from  one  of 
the  spare  rooms. 

And  then  the  joy  of  being  for  the  first  time  the  real 
head  of  the  house  when  "company"  was  present — free 
to  pour  out  her  hospitality  in  her  own  way — free  to  fix 
the  hours  of  breakfast,  dinner,  and  supper,  and  what 
should  be  cooked,  and  how  served;  free  to  roam  the 
rooms  at  her  pleasure,  in  and  out  of  the  silent  study 
without  the  never-infringed  formality  of  a  knock. 

And  the  long  talks  in  the  improvised  studio,  she  sit 
ting  under  the  big  north  window  in  the  softened  light 
of  the  sheet;  the  joy  she  took  in  his  work;  the  charm 
of  his  sympathetic  companionship.  Then  the  long 
rides  on  horseback  when  the  morning's  work  was  over, 
she  on  Black  Bess,  he  on  his  own  mare;  the  rompings 
and  laughter  in  the  cool  woods;  the  delight  over  the 
bursting  of  new  blossoms;  the  budding  of  new  leaves 
and  tendrils,  and  the  ceaseless  song  of  the  birds!  Were 
there  ever  days  like  these! 

And  the  swing  and  dash  and  freedom  of  it  all!  The 
perfect  trust,  each  in  the  other.  The  absence  of  all 
coquetry  and  allurement,  of  all  pretence  or  sham. 
Just  chums,  good  fellows,  born  comrades;  joining  in 
the  same  laugh,  stilled  by  the  same  thoughts;  absorbed 
in  the  same  incidents,  no  matter  how  trivial:  the  hiv 
ing  of  a  swarm  of  bees,  the  antics  of  a  pair  of  squirrels, 
or  the  unfolding  of  a  new  rose.  He  twenty-five,  clean- 
souled,  happy-hearted;  lithe  as  a  sapling  and  as  grace- 

105 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  AN 

ful  and  full  of  spring.  She  twenty-two,  soft-cheeked 
as  a  summer  rose  and  as  sweet  and  wholesome  and  as 
innocent  of  all  guile  as  a  fawn,  drinking  in  for  the  first 
time,  in  unknown  pastures,  the  fresh  dew  of  the  morn 
ing  of  life. 

And  the  little  comedy  in  the  garret  was  played  to  the 
very  end. 

Each  day  my  lady  would  dress  herself  with  the  great 
est  care  in  the  flowered  satin  and  coax  the  stray  curl 
into  position,  and  each  day  Adam  would  go  through 
the  ceremony  of  receiving  her  at  the  door  with  his 
mahlstick  held  before  him  like  a  staff  of  state.  Then, 
bowing  like  a  courtier,  he  would  lead  her  past  the 
yellow  satin  screen  and  big  jar  of  blossoms  and  place 
her  in  the  high-back  chair,  little  Phil  acting  as  page, 
carrying  her  train. 

And  so  the  picture  was  finished! 

On  that  last  day,  as  he  stood  in  front  of  it,  the  light 
softened  by  the  screening  sheet  falling  full  upon  it,  his 
heart  swelled  with  pride.  He  knew  what  his  brush 
had  wrought.  Not  only  had  he  given  the  exact  pose 
he  had  labored  for — the  bent  head,  the  full  throat,  the 
slope  of  the  gently  falling  line  from  the  ear  to  the  edge 
of  the  corsage,  the  round  of  the  white  shoulders  re 
lieved  by  the  caressing  curl;  but  he  had  caught  a  cer 
tain  joyous  light  in  the  eyes — a  light  which  he  had  often 
seen  in  her  face  when,  with  a  sudden  burst  of  affection, 
she  had  strained  little  Phil  to  her  breast  and  kissed  him 
passionately. 

106 


OLD-FASHIONED  GENTLEMAN 

"  I'm  not  so  beautiful  as  that,"  she  had  said  to  Adam 
with  a  deprecatory  tone  in  her  voice,  as  the  two  stood 
before  it.  "  It's  only  because  you  think  I  am,  and  be 
cause  you've  kept  on  saying  it  over  and  over  until 
you  believe  it.  It's  the  gown  and  the  peach  blossoms 
in  the  jar  behind  my  chair — not  me." 

The  servants  were  none  the  less  enthusiastic. 
Bundy  screwed  up  his  toad  eyes  and  expressed  the 
opinion  that  it  was  "de  'spress  image,"  and  fat  old 
Aunt  Dinah,  who  had  stumbled  up  the  garret  stairs 
from  the  kitchen,  the  first  time  in  years — her  quarters 
being  on  the  ground  floor  of  one  of  the  cabins — put  on 
her  spectacles,  and  lifting  up  her  hands,  exclaimed  in 
a  camp-meeting  voice: 

"De  Lawd  wouldn't  know  t'other  from  which  if 
both  on  ye  went  to  heaben  dis  minute!  Dat's  you,  sho' 
nuff,  young  mist'ess." 

Only  one  thing  troubled  the  young  painter:  What 
would  the  Judge  say  when  he  returned  in  the  morning  ? 
What  alterations  would  he  insist  upon  ?  He  had  been 
compelled  so  many  times  to  ruin  a  successful  picture, 
just  to  please  the  taste  of  the  inexperienced,  that  he 
trembled  lest  this,  the  best  work  of  his  brush,  should 
share  their  fate.  Should  the  Judge  disapprove 
Olivia's  heart  would  well  nigh  be  broken,  for  she  loved 
the  picture  as  much  as  he  did  himself. 

The  night  before  Judge  Col  ton's  return  the  two  sat 
out  on  the  porch  in  the  moonlight.  The  air  was  soft 
and  full  of  the  coming  summer.  Fire-flies  darted 

107 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  AN 

about;  the  croaking  of  tree-toads  could  be  heard. 
From  the  quarters  of  the  negroes  came  the  refrain  of 
an  old  song: 

"Corn  top's  ripe  and  de  meadow's  in  de  bloom, 
Weep  no  mo'  me  lady." 

"I  feel  as  if  I  had  been  dreaming  and  had  just 
waked  up,"  sighed  Olivia.  "Is  it  all  over?" 

"Yes,  I  can't  make  it  any  better,"  he  answered  in  a 
positive  tone,  his  thoughts  on  his  picture. 

"Must  you  go  away  after  you  finish  Phil's?"  Her 
mind  was  not  on  the  portrait. 

"Yes,  unless  the  Judge  wants  his  own  painted.  I 
wish  he  would.  I'd  love  to  stay  with  you — you've 
been  so  kind  to  me.  Nobody  has  ever  been  so  good." 

"And  you've  been  very  kind  to  me,"  Olivia  sighed. 
"Oh,  so  kind!" 

"And  just  think  how  beautiful  it  is  here,"  he  re 
joined;  "and  the  wonderful  weather;  and  the  lovely 
life  we  have  led.  You  ought  to  be  very  contented  in 
so  beautiful  a  home,  with  everybody  so  good  to  you." 

"It's  all  been  very,  very  happy,  hasn't  it?"  She 
had  not  listened,  nor  had  she  answered  him.  It  was 
the  refrain  of  the  old  song  that  filled  her  ears. 

"Yes,  the  happiest  of  my  life.  If  you'd  been  my 
own  sister  you  couldn't  have  been  lovelier  to  me." 

"Where  shall  you  go?"  She  was  not  looking  at 
him.  Her  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  group  of  trees  break 
ing  the  sky  line. 

"  Home,  to  my  people,"  he  answered  slowly. 
108 


OLD-FASHIONED  GENTLEMAN 

"  How  far  away  is  it  ?  " 

"  Oh,  a  long  distance!     It  takes  me  three  days'  con 
stant  riding  to  get  home." 
"And  you  love  them?" 
"Yes." 

"Do  they  love  you?" 
"Yes." 
Again  the  song  rolled  out: 

"Few  mo'  days  to  tote  de  weary  load, 
Weep  no  mo'  me  lady." 


109 


II 

The  home-coming  of  the  master  brought  everybody 
on  the  run  to  the  porch:  the  men  in  the  neighboring 
field;  the  gardener,  who  came  bounding  over  his 
flower-beds;  Aunt  Dinah,  drying  her  fat  hands  on  her 
apron,  to  grasp  her  master's;  Bundy,  who  helped  him 
to  alight;  half  a  dozen  pickaninnies  and  twice  as 
many  dogs,  and  last  Adam  and  Olivia,  who  came  fly 
ing  down  the  front  stairs,  followed  by  little  Phil. 

The  Judge  alighted  from  the  gig  with  some  difficulty, 
Bundy  guiding  his  foot  so  that  it  rested  on  the  iron 
step,  and  helped  him  to  the  ground.  The  ride  had 
been  a  trying  one,  and  the  heat  and  dust  had  left  their 
marks  on  his  face. 

"And  how  about  the  portrait?"  were  his  first  words 
after  kissing  his  wife  and  child  and  shaking  hands  with 
Gregg.  "Is  it  finished,  and  are  you  pleased,  my 
dear?" 

"Yes,  and  it's  lovely,  only  it's  not  me,  I  tell  him." 

"  Not  you  ?     Who  is  it,  then  ?  " 

"Oh,  somebody  twice  as  pretty!" 

"  No.  It's  not  one-quarter,  not  one-tenth  as  beauti 
ful!"  There  was  a  ring  in  Adam's  voice  that  showed 
the  tribute  came  from  his  heart. 

"But  that's  the  dress  and  the  background;  and  the 
lovely  blossoms.  Oh,  you'd  never  believe  that  old  jar 
could  look  so  well!" 

110 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED  GENTLEMAN 

"Background!  Jar!  Where  did  you  sit?"  He 
had  changed  his  coat  now,  and  Bundy  was  brushing 
the  dust  from  his  trousers  and  shoes. 

"Oh,  up  in  the  garret.  You  wouldn't  know  the 
place.  Mr.  Gregg  pulled  everything  round  until  it  is 
the  cosiest  room  you  ever  saw." 

The  Judge  shot  a  quick,  searching  glance  at  Adam. 
Then  his  eye  took  in  the  lithe,  graceful  figure  of  the 
young  man,  so  buoyant  with  health  and  strength. 

"Up  in  the  garret!  Why  didn't  you  paint  it  here, 
or  in  the  front  room?" 

"I  needed  a  north  light,  sir." 

"And  you  could  only  find  that  in  a  garret?  I 
should  have  thought  the  parlor  was  the  place  for  a 
lady.  And  are  you  satisfied  with  the  result  ?  "  he  asked 
in  a  more  formal  tone,  as  he  dropped  into  a  chair  and 
turned  to  Adam.  The  long  ride  had  fatigued  him 
more  than  he  had  thought  possible. 

"  Well,  it  certainly  is  the  best  thing  I  have  ever  done. 
The  flesh  tones  are  purer,  and  the — 

The  Judge  looked  up:    "Of  the  face?" 

"All  the  flesh  tones — especially  the  tones  around 
the  curl  where  it  lies  on  the  bare  shoulder." 

He  was  putting  his  best  foot  forward,  arguing  his 
side  of  the  case.  Half  of  Olivia's  happiness  would  be 
gone  if  her  husband  were  disappointed  in  the  por 
trait. 

"  Let  us  go  up  and  look  at  it,"  the  Judge  said,  as  if 
impelled  by  some  sudden  resolve. 

When  he  reached  the  garret — Adam  and  Olivia  and 
111 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  AN 

little  Phil  had  gone  ahead — he  stopped  and  looked 
about  him. 

"  Well,  upon  my  soul !  You  have  turned  things  up 
side  down,"  he  remarked  in  a  graver  tone.  "And 
here's  where  you  two  have  spent  all  these  days,  is  it  ?  " 
Again  his  eye  rested  on  Adam's  graceful  figure,  whose 
cheeks  were  flushed  with  his  run  upstairs.  With  the 
glance  came  a  certain  feeling  of  revolt,  as  if  the  lad's 
very  youth  were  an  affront. 

"  Only  in  the  morning,  sir,  while  the  light  lasted," 
explained  Adam,  noticing  the  implied  criticism  in  the 
coldness  of  the  Judge's  tones. 

"Turn  the  picture,  please,  Mr.  Gregg." 

For  a  brief  moment  the  Judge,  with  folded  arms, 
gazed  into  the  canvas;  then  the  straight  lips  closed, 
the  brow  tightened,  and  an  angry  glow  mounted  to  the 
very  roots  of  his  gray  hair. 

"  Mr.  Gregg,"  said  the  Judge  in  the  same  measured 
tone  with  which  he  would  have  sentenced  a  criminal, 
"  if  I  did  not  know  you  to  be  a  gentleman,  and  inca 
pable  of  dishonor,  I  should  ask  you  to  leave  my  house. 
You  may  not  have  intended  it,  sir,  but  you  have 
abused  my  hospitality  and  insulted  my  home.  My 
wife  is  but  a  child,  and  easily  influenced,  and  you 
should  have  protected  her  in  my  absence,  as  I  would 
have  protected  yours.  The  whole  thing  is  most  dis 
turbing,  sir — and  I ' 

"Why — why — what  is  the  matter?"  gasped  Adam. 
The  suddenness  of  the  attack  had  robbed  him  of  his 
breath. 

112 


OLD-FASHIONED  GENTLEMAN 

Matter!"  thundered  the  Judge.  "Bad  taste  is 
the  matter,  if  not  worse!  No  woman  should  ever  un 
cover  her  neck  to  any  man  but  her  husband!  You 
have  imposed  upon  her,  sir,  with  your  foreign  notions. 
The  picture  shall  never  be  hung!" 

"But  it  is  your  own  mother's  dress,"  pleaded 
Olivia,  a  sudden  flush  of  indignation  rising  in  her  face. 
"  We  found  it  in  the  trunk.  It's  on  my  bed  now — I'll 
go  and  get  it " 

"I  don't  want  to  see  it!  What  my  mother  wore  at 
her  table  in  the  presence  of  my  father  and  his  guests 
is  not  what  she  would  have  worn  in  her  garret  day  after 
day  for  a  month  with  her  husband  away.  You  should 
have  remembered  your  blood,  Olivia,  and  my  name 
and  position." 

"Judge  Col  ton!"  cried  Adam,  stepping  nearer  and 
looking  the  Judge  square  in  the  eyes — all  the  forces 
of  his  soul  were  up  in  arms  now — "your  criticisms  and 
your  words  are  an  insult!  Your  wife  is  as  unconscious 
as  a  child  of  any  wrong-doing,  and  so  am  I.  I  found 
the  dress  in  the  trunk  and  made  her  put  it  on.  Mrs. 
Colton  has  been  as  safe  here  with  me  as  if  she  had 
been  my  sister,  and  she  has  been  my  sister  every  hour 
of  the  day,  and  I  love  her  dearly.  I  have  told  her 
so,  and  I  tell  you  so!" 

The  Judge  was  accustomed  to  read  the  souls 
of  men,  and  he  saw  that  this  one  was  without  a 
stain. 

"  I  believe  you,  Gregg,"  he  said,  extending  his  hand. 
"  I  have  been  hasty  and  have  done  you  a  wrong.  For- 

113 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  AN 

give  me!  And  you,  too,  Olivia.  I  am  over-sensitive 
about  these  things:  perhaps,  too,  I  am  a  little  tired. 
We  will  say  no  more  about  it." 

That  night  when  the  Judge  had  shut  himself  up  in 
his  study  with  his  work,  and  Olivia  had  gone  to  her 
room,  Adam  mounted  the  stairs  and  flung  himself  down 
on  one  of  the  old  sofas.  The  garret  was  dark,  except 
where  the  light  of  the  waning  moon  filtering  through 
the  sheet,  fell  upon  the  portrait  and  patterned  the  floor 
in  squares  of  silver.  Olivia's  eyes  still  shone  out  from 
the  easel.  In  the  softened,  half-ghostly  light  there 
seemed  to  struggle  out  from  their  depths  a  certain 
pleading  look,  as  if  she  needed  help  and  was  appealing 
to  him  for  sympathy.  He  knew  it  was  only  a  trick  the 
moonlight  was  playing  with  his  colors — lowering  the 
reds  and  graying  the  flesh  tones — that  when  the  morn 
ing  came  all  the  old  joyousness  would  return;  but  it 
depressed  him  all  the  same. 

The  Judge's  words  with  their  cruelty  and  injustice 
still  rankled  in  his  heart.  The  quixotic  protest,  he 
knew,  about  his  mother's  faded  old  satin  must  have 
had  some  other  basis  than  the  one  of  immodesty — an 
absurd  position,  as  any  one  could  see  who  would  ex 
amine  the  picture.  Olivia  could  never  be  anything 
but  modest.  Had  it  really  been  the  gown  that  had 
offended  him?  or  had  he  seen  something  in  his  wife's 
portrait  which  he  had  missed  before  in  her  face — some 
thing  of  the  joy  which  a  freer  and  more  untrammelled 
life  had  given  her,  and  which  had,  therefore,  aroused 

114 


OLD-FASHIONED  GENTLEMAN 

his  jealousy.  He  would  never  forgive  him  for  the  out 
burst,  despite  the  apology,  nor  would  he  ever  forget 
Olivia  cowering,  when  she  listened,  as  if  from  a  blow, 
hugging  little  Phil  to  her  side.  While  the  Judge's 
words  had  cut  deep  into  his  own  heart  they  had 
scorched  Olivia's  like  a  flame.  He  had  seen  it  in  her 
tear-dried  face  seamed  and  crumpled  like  a  crushed 
rose,  when  without  a  word  to  her  husband  or  himself, 
except  a  simple — "Good-night,  all,"  she  had  left  the 
room  but  an  hour  before. 

Suddenly  he  raised  his  head  and  listened:  A  step 
was  mounting  the  stairs.  Then  came  a  voice  from  the 
open  door. 

"Adam,  are  you  in  there?" 

"Yes,  Olivia/' 

"May  I  come  in?" 

Like  a  wraith  of  mist  afloat  in  the  night  she  stole 
into  the  darkened  room  and  settled  slowly  and  noise 
lessly  beside  him.  He  tried  to  struggle  to  his  feet  in 
protest,  but  she  clung  to  him,  her  fingers  clutching  his 
arm,  her  sobs  choking  her. 

"  Don't — don't  go !  I  must  talk  to  you — nobody  else 
understands — nobody — 

"But  you  must  not  stay  here!     Think  what — 

"No!  Please — please — I  can't  go;  you  must  listen! 
I  couldn't  sleep.  Help  me!  Tell  me  what  I  must  do! 
Oh,  Adam,  please — please!  I  shall  die  if  I  have  to 
keep  on  as  I  have  done." 

She  slipped  from  the  low  cushion  and  lay  crouching 
at  his  feet,  her  arms  and  face  resting  on  his  knees;  her 

115 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  AN 

wonderful  hair,  like  spun  gold,  falling  about  him,  its 
faint  perfume  stirring  his  senses. 

Then,  with  indrawn,  stifling  sobs  she  laid  bare  her 
innermost  secrets;  all  her  heartaches,  misunderstand 
ings,  hidden  sorrows,  and  last  that  unnamed  pain 
which  no  human  touch  but  his  could  heal.  Only  once, 
as  she  crouched  beside  him,  did  he  try  to  stop  the  flow 
of  her  whispered  talk;  she  pleading  piteously  while  he 
held  her  from  him,  he  looking  into  her  eyes  as  if  he 
were  afraid  to  read  their  meaning. 

When  she  had  ended  he  lifted  her  to  her  feet, 
smoothed  the  dishevelled  hair  from  her  face,  and 
kissed  her  on  the  forehead: 

"  Go  now,"  he  said  in  a  broken  voice,  as  he  led  her 
to  the  door.  "  Go,  and  let  me  think  it  over." 


With  the  breaking  of  the  dawn  he  rose  from  the 
lounge  where  he  had  lain  all  night  with  staring  eyes, 
took  the  portrait  from  the  easel,  held  it  for  a  brief  in 
stant  to  the  gray  light,  touched  it  reverently  with  his 
lips,  turned  it  to  the  wall,  and  then,  with  noiseless  steps, 
descended  to  his  bedroom.  Gathering  his  few  belong 
ings  together  he  crept  downstairs  so  as  to  wake  no 
one,  pushed  open  the  front  door,  crossed  the  porch 
and  made  his  way  to  the  stable,  where  he  saddled  his 
mare.  Then  he  rode  slowly  past  the  lilacs  and  out 
of  the  gate. 

When  he  reached  the  top  of  the  hill  and  looked 
back,  the  rising  sun  was  gilding  the  chimneys  and 

116 


OLD-FASHIONED  GENTLEMAN 

quaint  dormers  of  Derwood  Manor.     Only  the  closed 
shutters  of  Olivia's  room  were  in  shadow. 

"  It's  the  only  way,"  he  said  with  a  sigh,  and  turned 
his  horse's  head  towards  the  North. 


117 


Ill 

The  few  weeks  Adam  Gregg  spent  in  his  father's 
home  on  his  return  from  Derwood  Manor  were  weeks 
of  suffering  such  as  he  had  never  known  in  his  short 
career.  No  word  had  come  from  Olivia,  and  none  had 
gone  from  him  in  return.  He  dared  not  trust  himself 
to  write;  he  made  no  inquiries.  He  made  no  mention, 
even  at  home,  of  his  visit,  except  to  say  that  he  had 
painted  Judge  Colton's  wife  and  had  then  retraced  his 
steps.  It  was  not  a  matter  to  be  discussed  with  any 
one — not  even  with  his  mother,  to  whom  he  told  al 
most  every  happening  of  his  life.  He  had  seen  a  vision 
of  transcendent  beauty  which  had  filled  his  soul. 
Then  the  curtain  had  fallen,  blotting  out  the  light  and 
leaving  him  in  darkness  and  despair.  What  was  left 
was  the  memory  of  a  tear-stained  face  and  two  plead 
ing  eyes.  These  would  haunt  him  all  his  days. 

At  the  end  of  the  year  he  found  himself  in  London: 
Gainsborough,  Romney  and  Lawrence  beckoned  to 
him.  He  must  master  their  technique,  study  their 
color.  The  next  year  was  spent  in  Madrid  studying 
Velasquez  and  Goya.  It  was  the  full  brush  that  en 
thralled  him  now — the  sweep  and  directness  of  virile 
methods.  Then  he  wandered  over  to  Granada,  and 
so  on  to  the  coast  and  Barcelona,  and  at  last  to  Paris. 

118 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED  GENTLEMAN 

When  his  first  salon  picture  was  exhibited  it  could 
only  be  properly  seen  when  the  crowd  opened,  so  great 
was  the  throng  about  it.  It  was  called  "A  Memory," 
and  showed  the  figure  of  a  young  girl  standing  in  the 
sunlight  with  wreaths  of  blossoms  arched  above  her 
head.  On  her  golden  hair  was  a  wide  hat  which  half 
shaded  her  face;  one  beautiful  arm,  exquisitely  mod 
elled  and  painted,  rested  on  the  neck  of  a  black  horse. 
A  marvellous  scheme  of  color,  the  critics  said,  the  blos 
soms  and  flesh  tones  being  wonderfully  managed.  No 
one  knew  the  model — English,  some  suggested;  others 
concluded  that  it  was  the  portrait  of  some  lady  of  the 
court  in  a  costume  of  the  thirties. 

The  day  after  the  opening  of  the  salon  Clairin  called 
and  left  his  card,  and  the  day  following  Fortuny 
mounted  the  stairs  to  shake  his  hand,  although  he  had 
never  met  Gregg  before.  When,  later  on,  Honorable 
Mention  was  awarded  him  by  the  jury,  Boisseau,  the 
art  dealer,  rang  his  bell  and  at  once  began  to  inquire 
about  the  price  of  portraits.  Madame  X.  and  the 
Countess  M.  had  been  captivated,  he  said,  by  "A 
"  Memory,"  and  wanted  sittings.  If  the  commissions 
were  sufficient  the  dealer  could  arrange  for  very  many 
orders,  not  only  for  many  women  of  fashion,  but  of 
members  of  the  Government. 

The  following  year  his  portrait  of  Baron  Chevrail 
received  the  Gold  Medal  and  he  himself  a  red  ribbon, 
and  a  few  months  later  his  picture  of  "  Columbus  be 
fore  the  Council"  took  the  highest  honors  at  Genoa, 
and  was  bought  by  the  Government. 

119 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  AN 

During  almost  all  the  years  of  his  triumphal  progress 
he  lived  alone.  So  seldom  was  he  seen  outside  of  his 
studio  that  many  of  his  brother  painters  were  convinced 
that  he  never  spent  more  than  a  few  days  at  a  time  in 
Paris.  They  would  knock,  and  knock  again,  only  to 
be  told  by  the  concierge  that  monsieur  was  out,  or  in 
London,  or  on  the  Riviera.  His  studio  in  London  and 
his  occasional  visits  to  Vienna,  where  he  shared  Ma- 
kart's  atelier  while  painting  a  portrait  of  one  of  the 
Austrian  grand  dukes,  helped  in  this  delusion.  The 
truth  was  that  he  had  no  thought  for  things  outside  of 
his  art.  The  rewards  of  fame  and  money  never  ap 
pealed  to  him.  What  enthralled  him  was  his  love  of 
color,  of  harmony,  of  the  mastering  of  subtleties  in 
composition  and  mass.  That  the  public  approved  of 
his  efforts,  and  that  juries  awarded  him  honors,  caused 
him  no  thrill  of  exultation.  He  knew  how  far  short  his 
brush  had  come.  He  was  glad  they  liked  the  picture. 
Next  time  he  would  do  better.  These  triumphs  ruf 
fled  his  surface — as  a  passing  wind  ruffles  a  deep  pool. 

As  he  grew  in  years  there  came  a  certain  dignity  of 
carriage,  a  certain  poise  of  bearing.  The  old-time 
courtliness  of  manner  was  strengthened;  but  the  sweet 
ness  of  nature  was  still  the  same — a  nature  that  won 
for  him  friends  among  the  best  about  him.  Not  many 
— only  three  or  four  who  had  the  privilege  of  knocking 
with  three  light  taps  and  one  loud  one  at  his  door, 
a  signal  to  which  he  always  responded — but  friends 
whose  proudest  boast  was  their  intimacy  with  Adam 
Gregg. 

120 


OLD-FASHIONED  GENTLEMAN 

The  women  smiled  at  him  behind  their  lorgnons  as 
they  passed  him  riding  in  the  Bois,  for  he  had  never 
given  up  this  form  of  out-door  exercise,  his  erect  mili 
tary  figure,  fine  head  and  upturned  mustache  lending 
him  a  distinction  which  attracted  attention  at  once; 
but  he  seldom  did  more  than  return  their  salutations. 
Sometimes  he  would  accept  an  invitation  to  dinner, 
but  only  on  rare  occasions.  When  he  did  it  was  in 
variably  heralded  in  advance  that  "  Gregg  was  com 
ing/  a  fact  which  always  decided  uncertain  guests  to 
say  "Yes"  to  their  hostess's  invitation. 

And  yet  he  was  not  a  recluse  in  the  accepted  sense  of 
the  word,  nor  did  he  lead  a  sad  life.  He  only  preferred 
to  enjoy  it  alone,  or  with  one  or  two  men  who  under 
stood  him. 

While  casual  acquaintances — especially  those  in  car 
riages — were  denied  access  when  he  was  absorbed  on 
some  work  of  importance,  the  younger  painters — those 
who  were  struggling  up  the  ladder — were  always  wel 
come.  For  these  the  concierge  was  given  special  in 
structions.  Then  everything  would  be  laid  aside; 
their  sketches  gone  over  and  their  points  settled,  no 
matter  how  long  it  took  or  how  many  hours  of  his  pre 
cious  time  were  given  to  their  service.  Many  of  these 
lads — not  alone  his  own  countrymen,  but  many  who 
could  not  speak  his  language — often  found  a  crisp, 
clean  bank-note  in  their  hands  when  the  painter's  fin 
gers  pressed  their  own  in  parting.  Of  only  one  thing 
was  he  intolerant,  and  that  was  sham.  The  insincere, 
the  presuming  and  the  fraudulent  always  irritated  him; 

121 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  AN 

so  did  the  slightest  betrayal  of  a  trust.  Then  his  dark- 
brown  eyes  would  flash,  his  shoulders  straighten,  and 
there  would  roll  from  his  lips  a  denunciation  which 
those  who  heard  never  forgot — an  outburst  all  the 
more  startling  because  coming  from  one  of  so  gentle 
and  equable  a  temperament. 

During  all  the  years  of  his  exile  no  word  had 
come  from  Olivia.  He  had  once  seen  Judge  Colton's 
name  in  one  of  the  Paris  papers  in  connection  with 
a  railroad  case  in  which  some  French  investors  were 
interested,  but  nothing  more  had  met  his  eye. 

Had  he  been  of  a  different  temperament  he  would 
have  forgotten  her  and  that  night  in  the  improvised 
studio,  but  he  was  not  constituted  to  forget.  He  was 
constituted  to  remember,  and  to  remember  with  all  his 
soul.  Every  day  of  his  life  he  had  missed  her;  never 
was  there  a  night  that  she  was  not  in  his  thoughts 
before  he  dropped  to  sleep.  What  would  have  been 
his  career  had  fate  brought  them  together  before  the 
blight  fell  upon  her?  What  intimacies,  what  enjoy 
ment,  what  ideals  nurtured  and  made  real.  And  the 
companionship,  the  instant  sympathy,  the  sureness  of 
an  echo  in  her  heart,  no  matter  how  low  and  soft  his 
whisper!  These  thoughts  were  never  absent  from  his 
mind. 

Moreover,  his  life  had  been  one  of  standards:  the 
greatest  painter,  the  greatest  picture,  the  finest  piece  of 
bronze.  It  was  so  when  he  looked  over  curios  at  the 
dealer's:  it  was  the  choicest  of  its  kind  that  he  must 
have;  anything  of  trifling  value,  or  anything  common' 

122 


OLD-FASHIONED  GENTLEMAN 

place — he  ignored.  Olivia  had  also  fixed  for  him  a 
standard.  Compared  to  her,  all  other  women  were 
trite  and  incomplete.  No  matter  how  beautiful  they 
might  be,  a  certain  simplicity  of  manner  was  lacking, 
or  the  coloring  was  bad,  or  the  curve  of  the  neck  un 
graceful.  All  of  these  perfections,  and  countless  more, 
made  up  Olivia's  personality,  and  unless  the  woman 
before  him  possessed  these  several  charms  she  failed  to 
interest  him.  The  inspection  over  and  the  mental 
comparison  at  an  end,  a  straightening  of  the  shoulders 
and  a  knitting  of  the  brow  would  follow,  ending  in  a 
far-away  look  in  his  brown  eyes  and  an  unchecked  sigh 
— as  if  the  very  hopelessness  of  the  comparison  brought 
with  it  a  certain  pain.  As  to  much  of  the  life  of  the 
Quartier  about  him,  he  shrank  from  it  as  he  would  from 
a  pestilence.  Certain  men  never  crossed  his  threshold 
— never  dared. 

One  morning  there  came  to  him  the  crowning  honor 
of  his  career.  A  new  hotel  de  ville  was  about  to  be 
erected  in  a  neighboring  city,  and  the  authorities  had 
selected  him  to  paint  the  great  panel  at  the  right  of  the 
main  entrance.  As  he  threw  the  letter  containing  the 
proposition  on  his  desk  and  leaned  back  in  his  chair  a 
smile  of  supreme  satisfaction  lighted  up  his  face.  He 
could  now  carry  out  a  scheme  of  color  and  massing  of 
figures  which  had  been  in  his  mind  for  years,  but  which 
had  heretofore  been  impossible  owing  to  the  limited 
area  covered  by  the  canvases  of  his  former  orders. 
This  space  would  give  him  all  the  room  he  needed. 
The  subject  was  to  be  an  incident  in  the  life  of  Ro- 

123 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  AN 

chambeau,  just  before  the  siege  of  Yorktown.  Gregg 
had  been  selected  on  account  of  his  nationality. 
Every  latitude  was  given  him,  and  the  treatment  was 
to  be  distinctly  his  own. 

It  was  while  searching  about  the  streets  and  cafes  of 
Paris  for  types  to  be  used  in  the  preliminary  sketches 
for  this,  the  supreme  work  so  far  of  his  life,  that  he 
took  a  seat  one  afternoon  in  the  early  autumn  at  a  table 
outside  one  of  the  cheap  cafes  along  the  Seine.  He 
could  study  the  faces  of  those  passing,  from  a  position 
of  this  kind.  In  his  coming  picture  there  must  neces 
sarily  be  depicted  a  group  of  the  great  Frenchman's 
followers,  and  a  certain  differentiation  of  feature  would 
be  necessary.  On  this  afternoon,  then,  he  had  taken 
his  sketch-book  from  his  breast  pocket  and  was  about 
to  make  a  memorandum  of  some  type  that  had  just  at 
tracted  him,  when  a  young  man  in  a  student's  cap 
twisted  his  head  to  get  a  closer  view  of  the  work  of 
Gregg's  pencil. 

An  intrusion  of  this  kind  from  any  one  but  a  student 
would  have  been  instantly  resented  by  Adam.  Not  so, 
however,  with  the  young  fellow  at  his  elbow;  these 
were  his  wards,  no  matter  where  he  met  them. 

"  Come  closer,  my  boy,"  said  Gregg  in  a  low  voice. 
"  You  belong  to  the  Quartier,  do  you  not  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"Are  you  English?" 

"No,  an  American.     I  am  from  Maryland." 

"From  Maryland,  you  say!"  exclaimed  Adam  with 
a  sudden  start,  closing  his  sketch-book  and  slipping  it 

124 


OLD-FASHIONED  GENTLEMAN 

into  his  pocket.  The  name  always  brought  with  it  a 
certain  rush  of  blood  to  his  cheek — why,  he  could  never 
tell.  "How  long  have  you  been  in  Paris,  my  lad?" 
He  had  moved  back  now  so  that  the  stranger  could  find 
a  seat  beside  him. 

"  Only  a  few  months,  sir.  I  was  in  London  for  a 
time  and  then  came  over  here.  I'm  working  at 
Julian's" — and  the  young  fellow  squeezed  himself  into 
the  chair  Adam  had  pulled  out  for  him. 

"Are  you  from  one  of  the  cities?" 

"No,  from  Montgomery  County,  sir." 

"That's  next  to  Frederick,  isn't  it?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

Both  question  and  answer  set  his  pulses  to  beating. 
Instantly  there  rushed  into  his  mind  the  picture  he 
never  forgot — the  figure  in  white  standing  at  the  head 
of  the  porch  steps.  He  recalled  the  long  curl  that  lay 
next  her  throat,  the  light  in  her  eyes,  the  warm  pressure 
of  her  hand;  the  wealth  of  bursting  blossoms,  their  per 
fume  filling  the  spring  air.  How  many  years  had 
passed  since  he  had  ridden  through  those  Maryland 
orchards ! 

For  some  minutes  Adam  sat  perfectly  still,  his  eyes 
fixed  on  the  line  of  trees  fringing  the  parapet  of  the 
Seine.  The  boy  kept  silent;  it  was  for  the  older  man 
to  speak  first  again.  Soon  an  overwhelming,  irre 
sistible  desire  to  break  through  the  reserve  of  years 
surged  over  the  painter.  He  could  ask  this  lad  ques 
tions  he  had  never  asked  any  one  before — not  that  he 
had  ever  had  an  opportunity,  for  he  had  seen  no  one 

125 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  AN 

who  knew,  and  he  had  determined  never  ,to  write. 
Here  was  his  chance. 

"Perhaps  you  can  tell  me  about  some  of  the  old 
residents.  I  visited  your  part  of  the  State  many  years 
ago — in  the  spring,  I  remember — and  met  a  few  of  the 
people.  What  has  become  of  Major  Dorsey,  Mr. 
Talbot  and" — there  was  a  slight  pause — "and  Judge 
Col  ton?" 

"  I  don't  know,  sir.  I've  heard  my  father  speak  of 
them,  but  I  never  saw  any  of  them  except  Judge  Col- 
ton.  He  used  to  stay  at  our  house  when  he  held  court. 
He  lived  up  in  Frederick  County — a  thin,  solemn-look 
ing  man,  with  white  hair.  He's  dead  now." 

Gregg's  fingers  tightened  convulsively.  "Judge 
Col  ton  dead!  Are  you  sure?" 

"Yes — died  the  week  I  left  home.  Father  went 
up  to  his  funeral.  He  rode  in  the  carriage  with  Mrs. 
Colton,  he  told  us  when  he  came  home.  They're 
pretty  poor  up  there,  too;  the  Judge  lost  all  his  money, 
I  heard." 

Gregg  paid  for  his  coffee,  rose  from  his  seat,  shook 
hands  with  the  boy,  gave  him  his  name  and  address  in 
case  he  ever  wanted  advice  or  help  and  continued  his 
walk  under  the  trees  overlooking  the  river.  The  news 
had  come  to  him  out  of  the  sky,  and  in  a  way  that  par 
took  almost  of  the  supernatural.  There  was  no  doubt 
in  his  mind  of  the  truth.  The  boy's  Southern  accent 
and  his  description  of  the  man  who  ten  years  before 
had  denounced  Olivia  and  himself,  was  confirmation 
enough. 

126 


OLD-FASHIONED  GENTLEMAN 

As  he  forged  along,  elbowing  his  way  among  the 
throng  that  crowded  the  sidewalk,  the  scene  in  the  gar 
ret  the  night  he  parted  from  Olivia  took  possession  of 
him — the  one  scene  in  all  their  past  relation  on  which  he 
never  allowed  himself  to  dwell.  He  recalled  the  tones 
of  her  voice,  the  outline  of  her  figure  crouching  at  his 
knees,  the  squares  of  moonlight  illumining  the  floor 
and  the  room,  and  now  once  again  he  listened  to 
the  story  she  had  poured  into  his  ears  that  fatal 
night. 

By  the  time  he  had  reached  his  studio  his  mind  was 
made  up.  Olivia  was  in  trouble,  perhaps  in  want. 
In  the  conditions  about  her  she  must  be  threatened  by 
many  dangers  and  must  suffer  many  privations.  The 
old  ungovernable  longing  again  gripped  him,  and  with 
renewed  force. 

What  was  there  in  life  but  love?  he  said  to  himself. 
What  else  counted?  What  were  his  triumphs,  his 
honors,  his  position  among  his  brother  painters,  his 
welcome  among  his  equals,  compared  to  the  love  of  this 
woman?  What  happiness  had  they  brought  him? 
Then  his  mind  reverted  to  his  past  life.  How  hungry 
had  he  been  for  the  touch  of  a  hand,  the  caress  of  a 
cheek,  the  whispered  talk  into  responsive  ears.  No! 
there  was  nothing — nothing  but  love!  Everything 
else  was  but  the  ashes  of  a  bitter  fruit. 

He  must  see  Olivia,  and  at  once;  the  long  wait  was 
over  now.  What  her  attitude  of  mind  might  be  made 
no  difference,  or  what  her  feeling  towards  him  for 
deserting  her  on  that  terrible  night.  To-day  she  was 

127 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED  GENTLEMAN 

unprotected,  perhaps  in  want.  To  help  her  was  a 
matter  of  honor. 

With  these  thoughts  crowding  out  every  other,  and 
with  the  impetus  of  the  resolve  hot  upon  him,  he 
opened  his  portfolio  and  wrote  a  note,  informing  the 
committee  in  charge  of  the  Rochambeau  picture  of  his 
sudden  departure  for  America  and  the  consequent  im 
possibility  of  executing  the  commission  with  which 
they  had  honored  him. 

Three  days  later,  with  a  new  joy  surging  through 
his  veins,  he  set  sail  for  home. 


128 


IV 

Again  Adam  drew  rein  and  looked  over  the  brown 
hills  of  Maryland.  No  wealth  of  bursting  blossoms 
greeted  him;  the  trees  were  bare  of  leaves,  their  naked 
branches  shivering  in  the  keen  November  wind;  in  the 
dips  of  the  uneven  roads  the  water  lay  in  pools;  above 
hung  a  dull,  gray  sky  telling  of  the  coming  cold;  long 
lines  of  crows  were  flying  southward,  while  here  and 
there  a  deserted  cabin  showed  the  havoc  the  years  of 
war  had  wrought — a  havoc  which  had  spared  neither 
friend  nor  foe. 

None  of  these  things  disturbed  Adam  nor  checked 
the  flow  of  his  spirits.  The  cold  would  not  reach  his 
heart;  there  was  a  welcome  ahead — of  eye  and  hand 
and  heart.  No  word  of  him  had  reached  her  ears.  If 
she  had  forgiven  him,  thought  of  him  at  all,  it  was  as 
across  the  sea  in  some  unknown  land.  Doubtless  she 
still  believed  he  had  forgotten  her  and  their  early  days. 
This  would  make  the  surprise  he  held  in  store  for  her 
all  the  more  joyous. 

As  he  neared  the  brow  of  the  hill  he  began  to  con 
over  in  his  mind  the  exact  words  he  would  use  when  he 
was  ushered  into  her  presence.  He  would  pretend  at 
first  to  be  a  wayfarer  and  ask  for  a  night's  lodging,  or, 
perhaps,  it  might  be  best  to  inquire  for  young  Phil,  who 

129 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  AN 

must  now  be  a  great  strapping  lad.  Then  he  began 
thinking  out  other  surprises.  Of  course  she  would 
know  him — know  him  before  he  opened  his  lips. 
How  foolish,  then,  the  pretence  of  deceiving  her. 
What  was  really  more  important  was  the  way  in  which 
he  would  enter  the  house;  some  care  must  therefore 
be  exercised.  If  he  should  approach  by  the  rear  and 
meet  either  Dinah  or  old  Bundy,  who  must  still  be 
alive,  of  course  they  would  recognize  him  at  once  be 
fore  he  could  caution  them,  the  back  door  being  near 
the  old  kitchen.  The  best  way  would  be  to  signal 
Bundy  and  call  to  him  before  the  old  man  could  fully 
identify  him.  He  could  then  open  the  door  softly  and 
step  in  front  of  her. 

Perhaps  another  good  way  would  be  to  leave  his 
horse  in  the  stable,  and  wait  until  it  grew  quite  dark — 
the  twilight  was  already  gathering — watch  the  lights 
being  lit,  and  in  this  way  discover  in  which  room  she 
was  sitting.  Then  he  would  creep  under  the  window 
and  sing  the  old  song  they  had  listened  to  so  often 
together,  "  Weep  no  mo',  me  lady."  She  would  know 
then  who  had  come  all  these  miles  to  see  her! 

Soon  his  mind  ran  riot  over  the  gown  she  would 
wear;  how  her  hair  would  be  dressed — would  she  still 
be  the  same  slight,  graceful  woman,  or  had  the  years 
left  their  mark  upon  her?  The  eyes  would  be  the 
same,  he  knew,  and  the  lips  and  dazzling  teeth;  and 
she  would  greet  him  with  that  old  fearless  look  in  her 
face — courage  and  gentleness  combined — but  would 
there  be  any  lines  about  the  dear  mouth  and  under  the 

130 


OLD-FASHIONED  GENTLEMAN 

eyes?  If  so  would  she  be  willing  to  let  him  smooth 
them  out?  She  was  free  now!  Both  were — free  to 
come  and  go  without  restraint.  What  would  he  not 
do  for  her!  All  her  future  and  his  own  would  here 
after  be  linked  together.  His  life,  his  triumphs,  his 
honors — everything  would  be  hers! 

As  these  thoughts  filled  his  mind  something  of  the 
spring  and  buoyancy  of  his  earlier  youth  came  back  to 
him.  He  could  hardly  restrain  himself  from  shouting 
out  in  glee  as  he  had  done  in  the  old  days  when  they 
had  scampered  through  the  woods  together.  With 
each  familiar  spot  his  enthusiasm  increased.  There 
was  the  brook  where  they  fished  that  morning  for  gud 
geons,  when  little  Phil  came  so  near  falling  into  the 
water;  and  there  was  the  turn  of  the  road  that  led  to 
the  school-house;  and  the  little  cabin  near  the  spring. 
It  would  not  be  long  now  before  he  looked  into  her 
eyes ! 

The  few  friends  who  knew  him  as  a  grave  and 
thoughtful  man  of  purpose  and  achievement  would 
never  have  recognized  him  could  they  have  watched 
his  face  as  he  sat  astride  his  horse,  his  whole  body 
quivering  with  expectancy,  the  hope  that  had  lain  dor 
mant  so  long  awake  once  more.  Now  it  was  his  turn 
to  be  glad. 

He  had  reached  the  hill.  Another  moment  and  he 
would  pass  the  mass  of  evergreens  to  the  left,  and  then 
the  quaint  dormer-windows  and  chimneys  of  Derwood 
Manor  would  greet  him. 

At  the  bend  of  the  road,  on  the  very  verge  of  the  hill, 
131 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  AN 

he  checked  his  horse  so  suddenly  as  almost  to  throw 
him  back  on  his  haunches.  A  sudden  chill  seized  him, 
followed  by  a  rush  that  sent  the  blood  tingling  to  the 
roots  of  his  hair.  Then  he  stood  up  in  his  stirrups  as 
if  to  see  the  better. 

Below,  against  the  background  of  ragged  trees,  stood 
two  gaunt  chimneys.  All  about  was  blackened  grass 
and  half-burned  timbers. 

Derwood  Manor  had  been  burned  to  the  ground! 

Staggered  by  the  sight,  almost  reeling  from  the  sad 
dle,  he  drove  the  spurs  into  his  horse,  dashed  through 
the  ruined  gate,  and  drew  rein  at  the  one  unburned 
cabin.  A  young  negro  woman  stood  in  the  door. 

For  an  instant  he  could  hardly  trust  himself  to  speak. 

"  I  am  Mr.  Gregg,"  he  said  in  a  choking  voice,  "  and 
was  here  ten  years  ago.  When  did  this  happen  ?  "  and 
he  pointed  to  the  blackened  ruins.  He  had  thrown 
himself  from  his  saddle  and  stood  looking  into  her  face, 
the  bridle  in  his  hand. 

"In  de  summer  time — las'  August,  I  think." 

"Where's  your  mistress?  Was  she  here  when  the 
house  was  burned?" 

"I  ain't  got  no  mist'ess — not  now.  Oh,  you  mean 
de  young  mist'ess  what  used  to  lib  here?  Aunt 
Dinah  cooked  for  'em — she  b'longed  to  'em." 

"Yes,  yes,"  urged  Gregg. 

"  She's  daid!" 

"My  God!     Not  when  the  house  was  burned?" 

"No,  she  warn't  here.  She  was  down  in  Baltimo' 
— she  went  dar  after  de  Jedge  died.  But  she's  daid, 

132 


OLD-FASHIONED  GENTLEMAN 

fo'  sho',  'cause  Aunt  Dinah  was  wid  her,  and  she  tol' 
me." 

Adam  dropped  upon  a  bench  outside  the  door  of  the 
cabin  and  began  passing  his  hand  nervously  over  his 
forehead  as  if  he  would  relieve  a  pain  he  could  not 
locate.  A  cold  sweat  stood  on  his  brow;  his  knees 
shook. 

The  woman  kept  her  eyes  on  him.  Such  incidents 
were  not  uncommon.  Almost  every  day  strangers  on 
their  way  South  had  passed  her  cabin,  looking  for 
friends  they  would  never  see  again — a  woman  for  her 
husband;  a  mother  for  her  son;  a  father  for  his  chil 
dren.  Unknown  graves  and  burned  homes  could  be 
found  all  the  way  to  the  Potomac  and  beyond.  This 
strong  man  who  seemed  to  be  an  officer,  was  like  all  the 
others. 

For  some  minutes  Adam  sat  with  his  head  in  his 
hand;  his  elbows  on  his  knees,  the  bridle  still  hooked 
over  his  wrist.  Hot  tears  trickled  between  his  closed 
fingers  and  dropped  into  the  dust  at  his  feet.  Then  he 
raised  his  head,  and  with  a  strong  effort  pulled  himself 
together. 

"  And  the  little  boy — or  rather  the  son — he  must  be 
grown  now.  Philip  was  his  name — what  has  become 
of  him  ?"  He  had  regained  something  of  his  old  poise 
— his  voice  and  manner  showed  it. 

"I  ain't  never  yeard  what  'come  'o  him.  Went  in 
de  army,  I  reck'n.  Daid,  I  spec' — mos'  ev'ybody's 
daid  dat  was  here  when  I  growed  up." 

Adam  turned  his  head  and  looked  once  more  at  the 
133 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED  GENTLEMAN 

blackened  ruins.  What  further  story  was  yet  to  come 
from  their  ashes? 

"  One  more  question,  please.  Were  you  here  when 
the  fire  came?" 

"  Yes,  suh,  me  and  my  husban'  was  both  here.  He 
ain't  home  to-day.  We  was  takin'  care  of  de  place 
when  it  ketched  fire — dat's  how  we  come  to  save  dis 
cabin.  Dere  warn't  no  water  and  nobody  to  help,  and 
dis  was  all  we  could  do." 

Again  Adam  bowed  his  head.  Was  there  nothing 
left  ? — nothing  to  recall  even  her  smile  ?  Then  slowly, 
as  if  he  feared  the  result: 

"Was  anything  saved — any  furniture,  or — pictures 
—or " 

"Nothin'  but  dem  two  chairs  inside  dar — and  dat 
bench  what  you's  settin'  on.  Dey  was  on  de  lawn 
and  dat's  how  we  come  to  git  'em." 

For  some  minutes  Adam  sat  looking  into  the  ground 
at  his  feet,  his  eyes  blurred  with  tears. 

"Thank  you,"  was  all  he  said. 

And  once  more  he  turned  his  horse's  head  towards 
the  North. 


134 


A  thin,  shabby  little  man,  with  stooping  shoulders, 
hooked  nose  and  velvet  tread,  stood  before  the  card 
rack  in  the  lower  corridor  of  the  old  studio  building 
on  Tenth  Street.  He  was  scanning  the  names,  begin 
ning  at  the  top  floor  and  going  down  to  the  basement. 
Suddenly  his  eyes  glistened: 

"Second  floor,"  he  whispered  to  himself.  "Yes, 
of  course;  I  knew  it  all  the  time — second  floor,"  and 
"  second  floor"  he  kept  repeating  as  he  helped  his  small 
body  up  the  steps  by  means  of  the  hand-rail. 

The  little  man  earned  his  living  by  obtaining 
orders  for  portraits  which  he  turned  over  to  the  several 
painters,  fitting  the  price  to  their  reputations,  and  by 
hunting  up  undoubted  old  masters,  rare  porcelains, 
curios  and  miniatures  for  collectors.  He  was  reason 
ably  honest,  and  his  patrons  followed  his  advice  when 
ever  it  was  backed  by  somebody  they  knew.  He  was 
also  cunning — softly,  persuasively  cunning — with  all 
the  patience  and  philosophy  of  his  race. 

On  this  morning  the  little  man  had  a  Gilbert  Stuart 
for  sale,  and  what  was  more  to  the  point  he  had  a  cus 
tomer  for  the  masterpiece:  Morion,  the  collector,  of 
unlimited  means  and  limited  wall  space,  would  buy  it 
provided  Adam  Gregg,  the  distinguished  portrait 

135 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  AN 

painter,  Member  of  the  International  Jury,  Com 
mander  of  the  Legion  of  Honor,  Hors  Concours  in 
Paris  and  Munich,  etc.,  etc.,  would  pronounce  it 
genuine. 

The  distinguished  painter  never  hesitated  to  give  his 
services  in  settling  such  matters.  He  delighted  in  do 
ing  it.  Just  as  he  always  delighted  in  criticising  the 
work  of  any  young  student  who  came  to  him  for  coun 
sel — a  habit  he  had  learned  in  his  life  abroad — and  al 
ways  with  a  hand  on  the  boy's  shoulder  and  a  twinkle 
in  his  brown  eyes  that  robbed  his  words  of  any  sting. 

When  dealers  sought  his  help  he  was  not  so  gracious. 
He  disliked  dealers — another  of  his  foreign  prejudices. 
Tender-hearted  as  he  was  he  generally  exploded  writh 
dynamic  force — and  he  could  explode  when  anything 
stirred  him — whenever  a  dealer  attempted  to  make 
him  a  party  to  anything  that  looked  like  fraud.  He 
had  once  cut  an  assumed  Corot  into  ribbons  with  his 
pocket-knife — and  this  since  he  had  been  home  in 
New  York,  fifteen  years  now — and  had  then  handed 
the  strips  back  to  the  dealer  with  the  remark: 

"  Down  in  the  Treasury  they  brand  counterfeits  with 
a  die;  I  do  it  with  a  knife.  Send  me  the  bill." 

The  little  man,  with  the  cunning  of  his  race,  knew 
this  peculiarity,  and  he  also  knew  that  ten  chances  to 
one  the  great  painter  would  receive  him  with  a  frigid 
look,  and  perhaps  bow  him  out  of  the  door.  So  he 
had  studied  out  and  arranged  a  little  game.  Only  the 
day  before  he  had  obtained  an  order  for  a  portrait  to  be 
painted  by  the  best  man-painter  of  his  time.  The 

136 


OLD-FASHIONED  GENTLEMAN 

picture  was  to  be  full  length  and  to  hang  in  the  direc 
tors'  room  of  a  great  corporation.  This  order  he  had 
in  his  pocket  in  writing,  signed  by  the  secretary  of  the 
board.  Confirmations  were  sometimes  valuable. 

As  the  little  man's  body  neared  the  great  painter's 
door  a  certain  pleasurable  sensation  trickled  through 
him.  To  catch  a  painter  on  a  hook  baited  with  an 
order,  and  then  catch  a  great  collector  like  Morion  on 
another  hook  baited  with  a  painter,  was  admirable 
fishing. 

With  these  thoughts  in  his  mind  he  rapped  timidly 
on  Adam  Gregg's  door,  and  was  answered  by  a  strong, 
cheery  voice  calling: 

"Come  in!" 

The  door  swung  back,  the  velvet  curtains  parted, 
and  the  little  man  made  a  step  into  the  great  painter's 
spacious  studio. 

"Oh,  I  have  such  a  fine  sitter  for  you!"  he  whis 
pered,  with  his  hand  still  grasping  the  curtain.  "  Such 
a  distinguished-looking  man  he  is — like  a  pope — like 
a  doge.  It  will  make  a  great  Franz  Hal;  such  a  big 
spot  of  white  hair  and  black  coat  and  red  face.  He's 
coming  to-morrow  and " 

"Who  is  coming  to-morrow?"  asked  Gregg.  His 
tone  would  have  swamped  any  other  man.  He  had 
recognized  the  dealer  with  a  simple  "  Good-morning," 
and  had  kept  his  place  before  his  easel,  the  overhead 
light  falling  on  his  upturned  mustache  and  crisp  gray 
hair. 

The  little  man  rubbed  his  soft,  flabby  hands  to- 
137 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  AN 

gether,  and  tiptoed  to  where  Gregg  stood  as  noiseless 
as  a  detective  approaching  a  burglar. 

"The  big  banker,"  he  whispered.  "Did  you  not 
get  my  letter?  The  price  is  no  object.  I  can  show 
you  the  order."  He  had  reached  the  easel  now  and 
was  standing  with  bent  head,  an  unctuous  smile  play 
ing  about  his  lips. 

"No,  I  don't  want  to  see  it,"  remarked  Gregg, 
squeezing  a  tube  on  his  palette.  "  I  can't  reach  it  for 
some  time,  you  know." 

"  Yes,  I  have  told  them  so,  but  the  young  gentleman 
wants  to  have  the  entry  made  on  the  minutes  and  have 
the  money  appropriated.  I  had  great  confidence,  you 
see,  in  your  goodness,"  and  the  little  man  touched  his 
forehead  with  one  skinny  finger  and  bowed  obse 
quiously. 

"  I  thought  you  said  he  had  white  hair." 

"So  he  has.  The  portrait  is  to  hang  up  in  the 
directors'  room  of  one  of  the  big  copper  companies. 
The  young  gentleman  is  a  member  of  the  banking 
firm  that  is  to  pay  for  the  picture,  and  is  quite  a 
young  man.  He  buys  little  curios  of  me  now  and 
then,  and  he  asked  me  whom  I  would  recommend  to 
paint  the  director's  portrait,  and,  of  course,  there  is 
but  one  painter — "  and  the  dealer  bowed  to  the  floor. 
"He's  coming  to-morrow  afternoon  at  four  o'clock 
and  will  stay  but  a  moment,  for  he's  a  very  busy  man. 
You  will,  I  know,  receive  him." 

Gregg  made  no  reply.  Rich  directors  did  not  ap 
peal  to  him;  they  were  generally  flabby  and  well  fed 

138 


OLD-FASHIONED  GENTLEMAN 

and  out  of  drawing.  If  this  one  had  some  color  in  him 
— and  the  dealer  knew — some  of  the  sort  of  vigor  and 
snap  that  would  have  appealed  to  Franz  Hal,  the  case 
might  be  different.  The  little  man  waited  a  moment, 
saw  that  Gregg  was  absorbed  in  some  brush  stroke, 
and  stepped  back  a  pace  or  two.  Better  wait  until  the 
master's  mind  was  free.  Then  again  he  could  sweep 
his  eyes  around  the  interior  without  being  detected — 
there  was  no  telling  what  might  happen:  some  day 
there  might  be  a  sale,  and  then  it  would  be  just  as  well 
to  know  where  things  like  these  could  be  found.  Again 
he  tiptoed  across  the  spacious  room,  stopping  to  gaze 
at  the  rich  tapestries  lining  the  walls,  examining  with 
eye-glass  held  close  the  gold  snuffboxes  and  rare  bits 
of  Sevres  and  Dresden  on  the  shelves  of  the  cabinet, 
and  testing  with  his  nervous  fingers  the  quality  of  the 
rich  Utrecht  velvet  screening  the  door  of  an  adjoining 
room. 

Gregg  kept  at  work,  his  square,  strong  shoulders, 
well-knit  back  and  straight  limbs — a  fulfilment  of  the 
promise  of  his  youth — in  silhouette  against  the  glare  of 
the  overhead  light,  its  rays  silvering  his  iron-gray  hair 
and  the  tips  of  his  upturned  mustache. 

The  tour  of  the  room  complete,  the  little  man  again 
bowed  to  the  floor  and  said  in  his  softest  voice: 

"And  you  will  receive  him  at  four  o'clock?" 

"Yes,  at  four  o'clock,"  answered  Gregg,  his  eyes  still 
on  the  canvas. 

Again  the  little  man's  head  bent  low  as  he  backed 
from  the  room.  There  was  no  need  of  further  talk. 

139 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  AN 

What  Adam  Gregg  meant  he  said,  and  what  he  said 
he  meant.  As  he  reached  the  velvet  curtain  through 
which  he  had  entered,  he  stopped. 

"And  now  will  you  do  something  for  me?" 

Gregg  lifted  his  chin  with  the  movement  of  a  big 
mastiff  throwing  up  his  head  when  he  scents  danger. 
"I  was  waiting  for  that;  then  there  is  a  string  to  it?" 
he  laughed. 

The  little  man  reddened  to  his  eyebrows.  The  fish 
had  not  only  seen  the  hook  under  the  bait,  but  knew 
who  held  the  line. 

"No,  only  that  you  come  with  me  to  Schenck's 
to  see  a  portrait  by  Gilbert  Stuart,"  he  pleaded.  "  I 
quite  forgot — it  is  not  often  I  do  forget;  I  must  be 
getting  old.  It's  to  be  sold  to-morrow;  Mr.  Morion 
will  buy  it  if  you  approve;  he  said  so.  I'm  just  from 
his  house." 

"  I  have  a  sitter  at  three." 

"  Yes,  I  know,  but  you  always  have  a  sitter.  You 
must  come — it  means  something  to  me.  I'll  go  and 
get  a  cab.  It  will  not  take  half  an  hour.  It  is  such 
a  beautiful  Stuart.  There's  no  doubt  about  it,  not 
the  slightest;  only  you  know  Mr.  Morion,  he's  very 
exacting.  He  says, '  If  Mr.  Gregg  approves  I  will  buy 
it.'  These  were  his  very  words." 

Gregg  laid  down  his  brushes.  Little  men  like  the 
one  before  him  wasted  his  time  and  irritated  him.  It 
was  always  this  way — some  underhand  business. 
Then  the  better  side  of  him  triumphed. 

"All  right!"  he  cried,  the  old  sympathetic  tone  ring- 
140 


OLD-FASHIONED  GENTLEMAN 

ing  out  once  more  in  his  voice.  "Never  mind  about 
the  cab;  I  need  the  air  and  the  walk  will  do  me 
good;  and  then  you  know  I  can't  see  Mr.  Morion 
swindled,"  and  he  laughed  merrily  as  he  looked  quiz 
zically  at  the  dealer. 

The  entrance  of  the  distinguished  painter  into  the 
gallery  of  the  auctioneer  with  his  quick,  alert  manner 
and  erect,  military  bearing,  the  Legion  of  Honor  in  his 
lapel,  soon  attracted  attention.  Schenck  came  up  and 
shook  Gregg's  hands  cordially,  repeating  his  name 
aloud  so  that  every  one  could  hear  it — especially  the 
prospective  buyers,  some  of  whom  gazed  after  him, 
remarking  to  their  fellows,  as  they  shielded  their  lips 
with  their  catalogues:  "That's  Gregg!" — a  name 
which  needed  no  further  explanation. 

"  I  have  come  to  look  at  a  Stuart  that  Mr.  Morion 
wants  to  buy  if  it  is  genuine,"  said  Gregg.  "  Tell  me 
what  you  know  about  it.  Where  did  it  come  from?" 

"I  don't  know;  it  was  left  on  storage  and  is  to  be 
sold  for  expenses." 

"Is  it  to  be  sold  to  the  highest  bidder?" 

"No,  at  private  sale." 

"Where  is  it?" 

"  There— behind  you." 

Gregg  turned  and  caught  his  breath. 

Before  him  was  a  portrait  of  a  young  woman  in  an 
old-fashioned  gown,  her  golden  hair  enshrining  a  face 
of  marvellous  beauty,  one  long  curl  straying  down  a 
shoulder  of  exquisite  mould  and  finish,  the  whole  re- 

141 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  AN 

lieved  by  a  background  of  blossoms  held  together  in  a 
quaint  earthen  jar. 

Strong  man  as  he  was,  the  shock  almost  overcame 
him.  He  reached  out  his  hand  and  grasped  the  back 
of  a  chair.  Tears  welled  up  in  his  eyes. 

The  auctioneer  had  been  watching  him  closely. 

"You  seem  to  like  it,  Mr.  Gregg." 

"Yes,"  answered  Adam  in  restrained,  measured 
tones.  "Yes,  very  much.  But  you  have  been  mis 
informed;  it  is  not  by  Gilbert  Stuart.  It  is  by  a  man 
I  know,  I  saw  him  paint  it.  Tell  Mr.  Morion  so. 
Send  it  to  my  studio,  please,  and  credit  this  gentleman 
with  the  commission — I'll  buy  it  for  old  association's 
sake." 

That  night,  when  it  grew  quite  dark,  he  took  the 
portrait  from  where  the  cartman  had  left  it  in  his  studio 
with  its  face  to  the  wall — never  again  would  it  suffer 
that  indignity — and  placed  it  under  his  skylight.  He 
wanted  to  see  what  the  fading  light  would  do — whether 
the  changed  colors  would  once  more  unlock  the  secrets 
of  a  soul.  Again,  as  in  the  dim  shimmer  of  the  dawn, 
there  struggled  out  from  the  wonderful  eyes  that  same 
pleading  look — the  look  he  had  seen  on  its  face  the 
morning  he  had  left  Derwood  Manor — as  if  she  needed 
help  and  was  appealing  to  him  for  sympathy.  Then 
he  flashed  up  the  circle  of  gas  jets,  flooding  the  studio 
with  light.  Instantly  all  her  joyousness  returned. 
Once  more  there  shone  out  the  old  happy  smile  and 
laughing  eyes.  Loosening  the  nails  that  held  the 
canvas,  he  freed  the  portrait  from  its  gaudy  frame,  and 

142 


OLD-FASHIONED  GENTLEMAN 

with  the  remark — "  It  was  unframed  when  I  kissed  it 
last,"  placed  it  over  the  mantel  moving  some  curios  out 
of  the  way  so  it  would  rest  the  more  firmly;  then  he 
dropped  into  a  chair  before  it. 

He  was  in  the  past  again — twenty-five  years  before, 
living  once  more  the  long  hours  in  the  garret  with  its 
background  of  blossoms;  roaming  the  woods;  listen 
ing  to  the  sound  of  her  joyous  laughter  when  she  caught 
little  Phil  to  her  breast  Then  there  rang  in  his  ear 
that  terrible  moan  when  Judge  Colton  denounced  them 
both;  and  the  sob  in  her  voice  as  she  sank  at  his  feet 
that  night.  He  could  catch  the  very  perfume  of  her 
hair  and  feel  the  hot  tears  on  his  hand.  If  only  the  lips 
would  open  and  once  more  whisper  his  name!  What 
had  sent  her  back,  to  soothe  him  with  her  beauty  ? 

His  whole  life  passed  in  review — his  hopes,  his  am 
bitions,  his  struggles;  the  years  of  loneliness,  of  mis 
understanding,  and  the  final  triumph — a  triumph  made 
all  the  more  bitter  by  a  fate  which  had  prevented  her 
sharing  it  with  him.  With  this  there  arose  in  his 
mind  the  picture  of  two  gaunt  chimneys  outlined 
against  a  cold,  gray  sky;  the  trees  bare  of  leaves,  the 
grass  shrivelled  and  brown — and  then,  like  a  refrain, 
came  the  long-forgotten  song: 

"  Weep  no  mo',  me  lady." 

Raising  himself  to  his  feet  he  leaned  over  the  mantel 
and  looked  long  and  steadily  into  the  eyes  of  the  por 
trait. 

"  Olivia,"  he  whispered — in  a  voice  that  was  barely 
143 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED  GENTLEMAN 

audible — "  I  did  not  intend  to  be  cruel.  Forgive  me, 
dear;  there  was  nothing  else  to  do — it  was  the  only 
way,  my  darling!" 

He  was  still  in  his  chair,  the  studio  a  blaze  of  light, 
when  a  brother  painter  from  the  studio  opposite,  whose 
knock  had  been  unheeded,  pushed  open  the  door. 
Even  then  Gregg  did  not  stir  until  the  intruder  laid  a 
hand  upon  his  shoulder. 


144 


VI 

By  noon  the  next  day  half  the  occupants  of  the  old 
studio  building  came  in  to  see  the  new  portrait.  He 
had  not  told  of  this  one,  but  the  brother  painter  had 
spread  the  news  of  the  "find"  through  the  building. 

It  was  not  the  first  time  Adam  Gregg's  "  finds  "  had 
been  the  subject  of  discussion  among  his  fellows.  The 
sketch  by  Velasquez — now  the  pride  of  the  gallery  that 
owned  it — and  which  had  been  discovered  by  him  in  a 
lumber-room  over  a  market,  and  the  Romney  which 
had  been  doing  duty  as  a  chimney-screen,  had  been 
the  talk  of  the  town  for  weeks. 

"Looks  more  like  a  Sully  than  n  Stuart,"  said  the 
brother  painter,  his  eyes  half  closed  to  get  the  better 
effect.  "  Got  all  Sully's  coloring." 

"Stunning  girl,  anyway;  doesn't  make  any  dif 
ference  who  painted  it,"  suggested  another.  "That 
kind  seem  to  have  died  out.  You  read  about  them  in 
books,  but  I've  never  met  one." 

"  ^Yonderful  flesh,"  remarked  a  third  with  meaning 
in  his  voice.  "If  it  isn't  by  Sully  it's  by  somebody 
who  believed  in  him." 

No  one  suspected  Gregg's  brush.  His  style  had 
changed  with  the  years — so  had  his  color:  that  palette 
had  been  set  with  the  yellow,  red,  and  blue  of  sunshine, 

145 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  AN 

blossom  and  sky,  and  the  paints  had  been  mixed  with 
laughter.  Nor  did  he  tell  them  he  himself  had  painted 
it.  This  part  of  his  life  was  guarded  with  the  same 
care  with  which  he  would  have  guarded  his  mother's 
secrets.  Had  he  owned  a  shrine  he  would  have  placed 
the  picture  over  its  altar  that  he  might  kneel  before  it. 

"These  blue-eyed  blondes,"  continued  the  first 
speaker  meditatively  with  his  eyes  on  the  portrait, 
"send  a  lot  of  men  to  the  devil." 

Gregg  looked  up,  but  made  no  reply.  Both  the  tone 
of  the  man  and  his  words  jarred  on  him. 

"You  can  forget  a  brunette,"  he  went  on,  "no  mat 
ter  how  bewitching  she  may  be,  but  one  of  these 
peach es-and-cream  girls — the  blue-eyed,  red-lipped, 
white-skinned  combination — takes  hold  of  a  fellow. 
This  man  knew  all  about  it — "  and  he  waved  his  hand 
at  the  portrait. 

"Is  that  all  you  see  in  it?"  rejoined  Gregg  coldly. 
"  Is  there  nothing  under  the  paint  that  appeals  to  you  ? 
Something  of  the  soul  of  the  woman?" 

"Yes,  and  that's  just  what  counts  in  these  blondes; 
that  'soul'  you  talk  about.  That's  what  makes  'em 
dangerous.  That's  what  captured  Hartman,  I  guess. 
Mrs.  Bowdoin's  got  just  that  girl's  coloring — not  so 
pretty,"  and  he  glanced  at  the  canvas,  "but  along 
her  lines.  Old  man  Bowdoin  says  he's  ruined  his 
home." 

"Yes,  and  it's  pretty  rough  I  tell  you  on  the  old 
man,"  remarked  a  third.  "I  saw  him  yesterday. 
The  poor  fellow  is  all  broken  up.  There's  going  to  be 

146 


OLD-FASHIONED  GENTLEMAN 

a  row,  and  a  hot  one,  I  hear.  Pistols,  divorce;  the 
air's  blue;  all  sorts  of  things.  Old  fellow  blusters, 
but  he  looks  ten  years  older." 

Gregg  had  risen  from  his  chair  and  stood  facing  the 
speaker,  his  brown  eyes  flashing,  his  lips  quivering. 
The  talk  had  drifted  in  a  direction  that  set  his  blood  to 
tingling. 

"You  tell  me  that  Hartman  has  at  last  run  away 
with  Mrs.  Bowdoin!"  he  exclaimed  angrily,  his  voice 
rising  in  intensity  as  he  proceeded.  "Has  he  finally 
turned  scoundrel  and  made  an  outcast  of  himself  and 
of  her  ?  I  have  been  expecting  something  of  the  kind 
ever  since  I  saw  him  in  Bowdoin's  studio  at  his  last 
reception.  And  do  you  really  mean  to  tell  me  that  he 
has  actually  run  off  with  her?" 

"  Well,  not  exactly  run  off — she's  gone  to  her  mother. 
She's  only  half  Bowdoin's  age,  you  know.  Hartman, 
of  course,  pooh-poohs  the  whole  thing." 

"And  he's  Bowdoin's  friend,  I  suppose  you  know!" 
Gregg  continued  in  a  restrained,  incisive  tone. 

"Yes,  certainly,  studied  with  him;  that's  where  he 
met  her  so  often." 

Gregg  began  pacing  the  floor.  Stopping  short  in 
his  walk  he  turned  and  faced  the  group  about  the  fire: 

"Does  he  realize,"  he  burst  out  in  a  voice  that  rang 
through  the  room  and  fastened  every  eye  upon  him — 
"what  his  cowardly  weakness  will  bring  him?  The 
misery  it  will  entail;  the  sleepless  nights,  the  fear,  the 
remorse  that  will  follow?  The  outrage  on  Bowdoin's 
home,  on  his  children  ?  Has  he  thought  of  the  humili- 

147 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  AN 

ation  of  the  man  deserted — the  degradation  of  the  man 
who  caused  it  ?  Does  he  know  what  it  is  to  live  a  life 
where  every  decent  woman  brands  you  as  a  scoundrel, 
and  every  decent  man  looks  upon  you  as  a  thief?" 

The  outburst  astounded  the  room.  One  or  two 
arose  from  their  chairs  and  stood  looking  at  him  in 
amazement.  Gregg  was  often  outspoken;  right  was 
right  with  him,  and  wrong  was  wrong,  and  he  never 
minced  matters.  They  loved  him  for  his  frankness 
and  courage,  but  this  outbreak  seemed  entirely  un 
called  for  by  anything  that  had  been  said  or  done. 
Surely  there  must  be  a  personal  side  to  his  attitude. 
Had  any  friend  of  his  any  such  experience  that  he 
should  explode  so  suddenly?  What  made  it  all  the 
more  unaccountable  was  that  he  never  talked  gossip, 
and  never  allowed  any  man  to  speak  ill  of  a  friend  in 
his  presence,  no  matter  what  the  cause — and  Hartman 
was  his  friend.  Why,  then,  should  he  pounce  upon 
him  without  proof  of  any  kind  other  than  the  gossip  of 
the  studios? 

"Well,  my  dear  Gregg,  don't  blame  me,"  laughed 
the  painter  who  had  borne  the  brunt  of  the  outbreak 
and  whom  Adam  had  singled  out  to  listen  to  his  at 
tack.  "I  haven't  run  off  with  pretty  Mrs.  Bowdoin, 
or  made  love  to  her  either,  have  I?" 

"But  you  still  shake  hands  with  Hartman,  don't 
you?" 

"  Of  course  I  do.  I  couldn't  show  him  the  door, 
could  I  ?  He's  made  an  ass  of  himself,  but  it's  none 
of  my  business.  They'll  have  to  patch  it  up  between 

148 


OLD-FASHIONED  GENTLEMAN 

them.  Don't  get  excited,  Gregg,  and  don't  forget  that 
the  jury  meets  this  afternoon  at  four  o'clock  in  my 
studio." 

"  I  will  be  there,"  replied  Adam  curtly,  "  but  I  can 
not  stay  very  long.  I  have  an  appointment  at  four." 

The  room  was  full  of  his  brother  painters  when, 
some  hours  later,  his  red  Spanish  boina  on  his  head — 
he  always  wore  it  when  at  work — Gregg  entered  the 
studio  on  the  floor  below  his  own.  It  was  the  first 
informal  meeting  of  the  Jury  of  the  Academy,  and  an 
important  one.  Some  of  the  men  were  grouped  about 
the  fire,  smoking,  or  lolling  in  their  chairs;  others  were 
stretched  out  on  the  lounges;  two  or  three  were  look 
ing  over  some  etchings  that  had  been  brought  in  by  a 
fellow-member.  All  had  been  awaiting  Adam's  ar 
rival.  Those  who  had  been  gathered  about  the  por 
trait  were  discussing  Gregg's  denunciation  of  Hart- 
man.  All  agreed  that  with  their  knowledge  of  the 
man's  universal  kindness  and  courtesy  that  the  out 
burst  was  as  unaccountable  as  it  was  astounding. 

Gregg  shook  hands  with  the  group,  one  by  one,  those 
who  were  reclining  rising  to  their  feet  and  the  others 
pressing  forward  to  greet  him;  then  drawing  out  a 
chair  at  the  end  of  the  long  table,  he  called  the  meeting 
to  order.  As  he  took  his  seat  a  man  of  thirty  in  an 
overcoat,  his  hat  in  his  hand,  walked  hurriedly  in 
through  the  open  door,  and  stood  for  a  moment  look 
ing  about  him,  a  sickly,  wavering  expression  on  his 
face,  as  if  uncertain  of  his  welcome.  It  was  Hartman. 

149 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  AN 

He  was  a  member  of  the  Council,  and  therefore 
privileged  to  attend  any  meeting. 

Gregg  pushed  back  his  chair  and  rose  to  his  feet, 
a  certain  flash  of  indignation  in  his  eyes  that  few  of 
his  friends  had  ever  seen. 

"Stop  where  you  are,  Mr.  Hartman,"  he  said  in  low, 
cutting  tones.  "  I  prefer  to  conduct  this  meeting  with 
out  you." 

"  And  I  prefer  to  stay  where  I  am,"  answered  Hart 
man  in  an  unsteady  voice,  gazing  about  as  if  in  search 
of  some  friendly  eye.  "  I  have  as  much  right  to  be  at 
this  meeting  as  you  have,"  he  continued,  advancing 
towards  the  pile  of  coats  and  hats. 

Adam  was  in  front  of  him  now,  his  big,  broad  frame 
almost  touching  the  intruder.  The  quick,  determined 
movement  meant  danger.  No  one  had  ever  seen 
Gregg  so  stirred. 

"You  will  do  as  I  tell  you,  sir!  Leave  the  room — 
now — at  once!  Do  you  hear  me!" 

Every  man  was  on  his  feet.  Those  who  had  heard 
Gregg's  outburst  a  few  hours  before  knew  the  reason. 
Others  were  entirely  ignorant  of  the  cause  of  his 
wrath. 

"You  are  not  responsible  for  me  or  my  actions. 
I'm  a  man  who  can " 

"Man!  You  are  not  a  man,  sir!  You  are  a  thief, 
one  who  steals  into  a  brother  painter's  home  and  robs 
him  of  everything  he  holds  dear.  Get  out  of  here! 
Go  and  hide  yourself  in  the  uttermost  parts  of  the 
earth  where  no  man  you  ever  saw  will  know  you! 

150 


OLD-FASHIONED  GENTLEMAN 

Jump  into  the  sea — destroy  yourself!     Go,  you  leper! 
Savages  protect  their  women!" 

He  had  his  fingers  in  Hartman's  collar  now  and 
was  backing  him  towards  the  door.  One  or  two 
men  tried  to  stop  him,  but  Gregg's  voice  rang  out 
clear: 

"Keep  your  hands  off!     Out  he  goes,  if  I  have  to 
throw  him  downstairs.     Stand  back,  all  of  you — 
and  with  a  mighty  effort  he  caught  the  younger  and 
apparently  stronger  man  under  the  armpits  and  hurled 
him  through  the  open  doorway. 

For  some  seconds  no  one  spoke.  The  suddenness 
of  the  attack,  the  uncontrollable  anger  of  the  dis 
tinguished  painter — so  gentle  and  forbearing  always — 
the  tremendous  strength  of  the  man;  the  cowering 
look  on  Hartman's  face — a  look  that  plainly  told  of  his 
guilt — had  stunned  every  one  in  the  room. 

Gregg  broke  the  silence.  He  had  locked  the  door 
on  Hartman  and  was  again  in  his  chair  by  the  table, 
a  flushed  face  and  rumpled  shirt  the  only  marks  of  the 
encounter. 

"I  owe  you  an  apology,  gentlemen,"  he  said,  ad 
justing  his  cuffs  and  speaking  in  the  same  voice  with 
which  he  would  have  asked  for  a  match  to  light  his 
cigar.  "  I  did  not  intend  to  disturb  the  meeting,  but 
there  are  some  things  I  cannot  stand.  We  have  curs 
prowling  around  in  society,  walking  in  and  out  of 
decent  homes,  trusted  and  believed  in,  that  are  twice 
as  dangerous  as  mad  dogs.  Hartman  is  one  of  them. 
When  they  bite  they  kill.  The  only  way  is  to  shut 

151 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  AN 

your  doors  in  their  faces.  That  I  shall  do  whenever 
one  crosses  my  path.  And  now,  if  you  will  excuse  me, 
I  will  ask  one  of  you  to  fill  my  place  and  let  me  go  back 
to  my  studio.  I  have  an  appointment  at  four,  as  I 
told  you  this  morning,  and  I'm  late." 

Once  in  the  corridor  he  stepped  to  the  rail,  looked 
over  the  banisters  as  if  in  expectation  of  seeing  the 
object  of  his  wrath,  and  slowly  mounted  the  stairs  to 
his  studio.  As  he  approached  the  velvet  curtain  he 
heard  through  the  half-closed  door  a  heavy  step. 
Some  one  was  walking  about  inside.  ^Yas  Hartman 
waiting  for  him  to  renew  the  conflict?  he  wondered. 
Pushing  aside  the  curtain  he  stepped  boldly  in. 

On  the  mat  before  the  fire,  with  his  back  to  the  door, 
his  eyes  fixed  on  Olivia's  portrait,  stood  a  young  man 
he  had  never  seen  before.  As  the  overhead  light  fell 
on  his  glossy  hair  and  over  his  clean-shaven  face  and 
well-groomed  body,  Gregg  noticed  that  he  belonged 
to  the  class  of  prosperous  business  men  of  the  day. 
This  was  not  only  apparent  in  the  way  his  well-cut 
clothes  fitted  his  slender  body — perfect  in  appointment, 
from  the  bunch  of  violets  in  his  button-hole  to  his 
polished  shoes — but  in  his  quick  movements. 

"Have  I  made  a  mistake?"  the  young  man  asked 
in  a  crisp,  decisive  voice.  "  This  is  Mr.  Adam  Gregg, 
is  it  not?  I  found  your  door  on  a  crack  and  thought 
you  were  not  far  off." 

"No,  you  haven't  made  a  mistake,"  answered 
Adam  courteously,  startled  out  of  his  mood  by  the 
bearing  and  kindly  greeting  of  the  stranger.  "My 

152 


OLD-FASHIONED  GENTLEMAN 

name  is  Gregg — what  can  I  do  for  you?"     All  trace 
of  his  former  agitation  was  gone  now. 

"Well,  I  am  here  on  behalf  of  my  special  partner, 
Mr.  Eggleston,  who  is  also  a  director  in  one  of  our 
companies,  and  who  had  an  appointment  with  you  at 
four  o'clock.  He  is  detained  at  the  trust  company's 
office,  and  I  came  in  his  stead.  The  portrait,  as  I  sup 
pose  that  little  fellow — I  forget  his  name — has  told 
you,  is  to  hang  up  in  the  office  of  the  Portage  Copper 
Company — that's  our  company.  We  want  a  full- 
sized  portrait — big  and  important.  Mr.  Eggleston 
is  a  good  deal  of  a  man,  you  know,  and  there's  a  busi 
ness  side  to  it — business  side  to  most  everything  in  the 
Street,"  this  came  with  a  half-laugh.  "I'll  tell  you 
about  that  later.  You  never  saw  him,  of  course. 
No? — he's  so  busy  he  doesn't  get  around  much  up 
town.  Fine,  large,  rather  imposing-looking — white 
hair,  red  face  and  big  hands — lots  of  color  about  him 
— ought  to  paint  him,  I  suppose,  with  his  hand  on  a 
globe,  or  some  books.  I'm  not  posted  on  these  things, 
but  you'll  know  when  you  see  him.  He'll  be  up  any 
day  next  week  that  you  say.  We  want  it  right  away, 
of  course.  Some  business  in  that,  too,"  and  another 
faint  laugh  escaped  his  lips. 

All  this  time  Gregg  had  been  standing  in  front  of  the 
stranger  waiting  for  an  opportunity  to  offer  him  his 
hand  and  tell  how  sorry  he  was  to  have  kept  him  wait 
ing,  explaining  the  meeting  of  the  jury  and  his  being 
obliged  to  be  present,  but  the  flow  of  talk  had  con 
tinued  without  a  break  and  in  a  way  that  began  to 
attract  his  attention. 

153 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  AN 

"  Got  a  nice  place  here,"  the  young  man  rattled  on, 
gazing  about  him  as  he  spoke;  "first  time  I  was  ever 
in  a  studio,  and  first  time,  too,  I  ever  met  a  real  painter 
in  his  workshop.  I'm  so  tied  down.  Valuable,  these 
things  you've  got  here,  too — cost  a  lot  of  money.  I 
buy  a  few  myself  now  and  then.  By  the  bye,  while  I 
was  waiting  for  you  to  come  in  I  couldn't  help  looking 
at  the  pictures  and  things." 

He  had  stepped  closer  now,  his  eyes  boring  into 
Gregg's  as  if  he  were  trying  to  read  his  mind.  For  an 
instant  Gregg  thought  an  extra  cocktail  on  the  way 
uptown  was  the  cause  of  his  garrulousness. 

"  Of  course  I  know  it's  all  right,  Mr.  Gregg,  or  you 
wouldn't  have  it — and  you  needn't  tell  nie  if  you  don't 
want  to — maybe  I  oughtn't  to  ask,  been  so  long  ago 
and  everything  lost  track  of — but  you  won't  feel  of 
fended  if  I  do,  will  you?"  He  had  his  hand  on 
Gregg's  shoulder  now,  his  lips  quivering,  a  peculiar 
look  in  his  eyes.  "  Come  across  here  with  me,  please. 
No — this  way,  to  the  fireplace.  Where  did  you  get 
that  portrait?" 

Gregg  felt  a  sudden  relief.  The  man  wasn't  drunk 
— it  was  the  beauty  of  the  picture  which  had  affected 
him.  He  could  forgive  him  that,  although  he  felt  sure 
the  next  move  would  be  an  offer  to  purchase  it.  He 
had  met  his  kind  before. 

"I  bought  it  at  private  sale,"  he  answered  simply. 

"When?" 

"Yesterday." 

"Who  sold  it  to  you?" 

"Schenck,  the  auctioneer." 
151 


OLD-FASHIONED  GENTLEMAN 

"Will  you  sell  it  to  me?" 

"No;    I  never  sell  anything  of  that  kind." 

"Not  at  a  large  price?" 

"Not  any  price,"  Gregg  replied  in  a  decided  tone. 
It  was  just  as  he  expected.  These  men  of  business 
gauge  everything  by  their  bank  accounts.  One  of 
them  had  had  the  impertinence  to  ask  him  to  fill  up  a 
blank  check  for  the  contents  of  his  studio. 

"Where  did  it  come  from?" 

"  Schenck  told  me  he  didn't  know.  It  was  held  for 
storage.  It  seems  to  interest  you?"  There  was  a 
slight  tone  of  resentment  in  Gregg's  voice. 

"Yes,  it  does,  more  than  I  can  tell  you,  more  than 
you  can  understand."  His  voice  had  lost  its  nervous 
ness  now. 

"It  reminds  you  of  some  one,  perhaps?"  asked 
Gregg.  There  might,  after  all,  be  some  spark  of 
sentiment  in  the  young  man. 

"Yes,  it  does,"  he  continued,  devouring  it  with  his 
eyes.  "  I  haven't  seen  it  since  I  was  a  child." 

"You  know  it,  then!"  It  was  Gregg's  turn  to  be 
surprised.  "Where  did  you  see  it,  may  I  ask?" 

"  Down  in  Maryland,  at  Derwood  Manor,  before  it 
was  burned." 

The  blood  mounted  to  Gregg's  cheeks  and  he  was 
about  to  speak.  Then  he  checked  himself.  He  did 
not  want  to  know  of  the  portrait's  vicissitudes.  That 
it  was  now  where  he  could  be  locked  up  with  it,  made 
up  for  everything  it  had  come  through. 

"Yes,  these  memories  are  very  curious,"  remarked 
155 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED  GENTLEMAN 

Gregg  in  a  more  gentle  tone.  "  It  reminds  me  also  of 
some  one  I  once  knew.  Don't  you  think  it  is  very 
beautiful?" 

"Beautiful!  Beautiful!  It's  the  most  beautiful 
thing  in  the  world  to  me!  Why,  it's  my  own  mother, 
Mr.  Gregg!" 

"You — your  own  mother!     What's  your  name?" 

"Philip  Colton." 


156 


VII 

The  same  poise  that  restrained  Adam  Gregg  when 
he  came  suddenly  upon  Olivia's  portrait  in  the  auction- 
room  sustained  him  when  he  looked  into  the  eyes  of 
the  young  man  whom,  years  before,  he  had  left  as  a 
child  at  Derwood  Manor. 

"Are  you  sure?"  he  asked.  He  knew  he  was — he 
only  wanted  some  fresh  light  on  the  dark  record.  For 
years  the  book  had  been  sealed. 

"Am  I  sure?  Why  it  used  to  be  in  the  garret  till 
my  father  died,  and  then  my  mother  brought  it  down 
into  her  room.  I  have  seen  her  sit  before  it  for  hours 
— she  loved  it.  And  once  I  found  her  kissing  it. 
Strange,  isn't  it,  how  a  woman  will  regret  her  youth  ? 
— and  yet  I  always  thought  my  mother  beautiful  even 
when  her  hair  turned  gray." 

Gregg  turned  his  head  and  tightened  his  fingers. 
For  an  instant  he  feared  his  tears  would  unman  him. 

"  If  it  is  your  mother's  portrait,"  he  said,  "  the  pict 
ure  belongs  to  you,  not  to  me.  I  bought  it  because  it 
recalled  a  face  I  once  knew,  and  for  its  beauty.  A 
man  has  but  one  mother,  and  if  your  own  was  like  this 
one  she  must  be  your  most  precious  memory.  I  did 
not  intend  to  part  with  it,  but  I'll  give  it  to  you." 

157 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  AN 

"  Oh!  you  are  very  good,  Mr.  Gregg,"  burst  out  the 
young  man,  grasping  Adam's  hand  (Adam  caught 
Olivia's  smile  now,  flashing  across  his  features),  "  but 
I  have  no  place  for  it — not  yet.  I  may  have  later, 
when  I  have  a  home  of  my  own;  that  depends  upon 
my  business.  I'll  only  ask  you  to  let  me  come  in  once 
in  a  while  to  see  it." 

Gregg  returned  the  grasp  heartily,  declaring  that  his 
door  was  always  open  to  him  at  any  time  and  the  pict 
ure  at  his  disposal  whenever  he  should  claim  it.  He 
did  not  tell  him  he  had  painted  it.  He  did  not  tell  him 
that  he  had  known  either  Olivia  or  his  father,  or  of  his 
visit  ten  years  later.  That  part  of  his  life  had  had  a 
sad  and  bitter  end.  Both  of  them  were  dead;  the 
house  in  ruins — why  rake  among  the  cinders? 

All  that  spring,  in  response  to  Adam's  repeated  wel 
comes,  Philip  Colton  made  excuses  to  drop  into 
Gregg's  studio.  At  first  to  postpone  the  time  for  Mr. 
Eggleston's  sittings;  then  to  invite  Gregg  to  dinner  at 
his  club  to  meet  some  brother  financiers,  which  Gregg 
declined;  again  to  get  his  opinion  on  some  trinkets  he 
had  bought,  and  still  again  to  bring  him  some  flowers, 
he  having  noticed  that  the  painter  was  never  without 
them — nor  was  the  portrait,  for  that  matter,  Adam  al 
ways  placing  a  cluster  of  blossoms  or  a  bunch  of  roses 
near  the  picture,  either  on  the  mantel  beneath  or  on 
the  table  beside  it. 

Sometimes  Adam  when  leaving  his  door  on  a  crack 
would  find  that  in  his  absence  in  an  adjoining  studio, 

158 


OLD-FASHIONED  GENTLEMAN 

Colton  had  come  and  gone,  the  only  record  of  his  visit 
being  a  mass  of  roses  he  himself  had  placed  beneath 
his  mother's  portrait.  Once  he  surprised  the  young 
man  standing  before  it  looking  up  into  the  eyes  as  if 
waiting  for  her  to  speak.  Incidents  like  these  showed 
his  better  and  more  sympathetic  nature  and  drew 
Adam  to  him  the  closer. 

And  the  growth  of  the  friendship  was  not  all  on  one 
side.  Not  only  was  Gregg's  type  of  man  absolutely 
new  to  the  young  financier,  but  his  workshop  was  a 
never-ending  surprise.  The  fact  that  neither  bonds 
nor  stocks,  nor  anything  connected  with  them,  was 
ever  discussed  inside  its  tapestried  walls,  opened  up  for 
him  new  vistas  in  life.  The  latest  novel  might  be  gone 
into  or  a  character  in  a  recent  play;  or  the  rendering 
of  a  symphony,  or  some  fresh  discovery  in  science,  but 
nothing  of  gain.  What  struck  him  as  more  extraor 
dinary  still  was  the  air  of  repose  that  was  everywhere 
apparent,  so  different  from  his  own  busy  life,  and  at  any 
hour  of  the  day,  too.  This  was  apparent  not  only  in 
the  voices,  but  in  the  attitude  and  bearing  of  the  men 
who  formed  the  painter's  circle  of  friends. 

Sometimes  he  would  find  Macklin,  the  sculptor — up 
from  his  atelier  in  the  basement — buried  in  a  chair  and 
a  book,  pipe  in  mouth,  before  Gregg's  fire — had  been 
there  for  hours  when  Phil  entered.  Again  he  would 
catch  the  sound  of  the  piano  as  he  mounted  the  stairs, 
only  to  discover  Putney,  the  landscape  painter,  running 
his  fingers  over  the  keys,  while  Adam  stood  before  his 
easel  touching  his  canvas  here  or  there;  or  he  would 

159 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  AN 

interrupt  old  Sonheim,  who  kept  the  book-shop  at  the 
corner,  and  who  had  known  Adam  for  years — while  he 
read  aloud  this  and  that  quotation  from  a  musty  vol 
ume,  Adam  stretched  out  at  full  length  on  his  divan, 
the  smoke  of  his  cigarette  drifting  blue  in  the  overhead 
light. 

These  restful  contrasts  to  his  own  life  interested  and 
astonished  him.  Since  his  father's  death  he  had  had 
few  hours  of  real  repose.  While  not  yet  fifteen  he  had 
been  thrown  out  into  the  worM  to  earn  his  bread.  A 
successful  earning,  for  he  was  already  head  of  his  firm, 
in  which  his  prospective  father-in-law,  Mr.  Eggleston, 
the  rich  banker,  was  special  partner,  and  young  Eggles 
ton  the  junior  member.  An  honorable  career,  too, 
for  the  house  stood  high  in  the  Street,  and  its  credit 
was  above  reproach  in  the  commercial  world,  their 
company — the  Portage  Copper  Company,  whose  se 
curities  they  financed — being  one  of  the  many  im 
portant  mining  properties  in  the  great  Northwest.  All 
this  he  owed  to  his  own  indomitable  will  and  pluck, 
and  to  his  untiring  industry — a  quality  developed  in 
many  another  young  Southerner  the  victim  of  the  war 
and  its  aftermath. 

And  he  was  always  welcome. 

Apart  from  the  tie  that  bound  them  together — of 
which  Philip  was  unconscious — Adam's  heart  went 
out  to  the  young  fellow  as  many  another  childless,  wife 
less  man's  has  gone  out  to  youth.  He  loved  his  en 
thusiasms,  his  industry,  his  successes.  Most  of  all  he 
loved  the  young  man's  frankness — the  way  in  which 

160 


OLD-FASHIONED  GENTLEMAN 

he  kept  nothing  back — even  his  earlier  escapades, 
many  of  which  he  should  have  been  ashamed  of. 
Then  again  he  loved  the  reverence  with  which  Phil 
treated  him,  the  deference  to  his  opinions,  the  accept 
ance  of  his  standards.  Most  of  all  he  loved  him  for 
the  memory  of  the  long  ago. 

It  was  only  when  the  overmastering  power  of  money 
became  the  dominant  force — the  one  recognized  and 
gloated  over  by  Philip— that  his  face  grew  grave.  It 
was  then  that  the  older  and  wiser  man,  with  his  keen 
insight  into  the  human  heart,  trembled  for  the  younger, 
fearing  that  some  sudden  pressure,  either  of  fortune  or 
misfortune,  might  sweep  him  off  his  feet.  It  was  at 
these  times — Philip's  face  all  excitement  with  the  tell 
ing — that  Adam's  penetrating  eyes,  searching  into  the 
inner  places,  would  find  the  hard,  almost  pitiless  lines 
which  he  remembered  so  well  in  the  father's  face  re 
peated  in  the  son's. 

There  was,  however,  one  subject  which  swept  these 
lines  out  of  his  face.  That  was  when  Phil  would  speak 
of  Madeleine,  the  rich  banker's  daughter — Madeleine 
with  her  sunny  eyes  and  merry  laugh — "Only  up  to 
my  shoulder — such  a  dear  girl!"  Then  there  would 
break  over  the  young  man's  face  that  joyous,  irradiat 
ing  smile,  that  sudden  sparkle  of  the  eye  and  quiver 
of  the  lip  that  had  made  his  own  mother's  face  so  en 
chanting.  On  these  occasions  the  Street  and  all  it 
stood  for,  as  well  as  books  and  everything  else,  was 
forgotten  and  Madeleine  would  become  the  sole  topic. 
These  two  influences  struggled  for  mastery  in  the 

161 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  AN 

young  man's  heart;  influences  unknown  to  Philip,  but 
clear  as  print  to  the  eye  of  the  thoughtful  man  of  the 
world  who,  day  by  day,  read  his  companion's  mind 
the  clearer. 

As  to  Madeleine  no  subject  could  be  more  congenial. 

When  a  young  fellow  under  thirty  has  found  a  sym 
pathetic  old  fellow  of  fifty  to  listen  to  talks  of  his 
sweetheart,  and  when  that  old  fellow  of  fifty  has  found 
a  companion  with  a  look  in  his  eyes  of  the  woman  he 
loved  and  who  carries  in  his  face  something  of  the  joy 
he  knew  in  youth,  it  is  no  wonder  that  these  two  be 
came  still  greater  friends,  or  that  Philip's  tread  outside 
Adam  Gregg's  door  was  always  followed  by  a  quick 
beat  of  the  painter's  heart  and  a  warm  grasp  of  his 
hand. 

One  afternoon  Philip  came  in  with  a  spring  quite 
different  from  either  his  nervous  walk  or  his  more 
measured  tread — his  "bank  director's  step"  Adam 
used  to  call  it  with  a  smile.  This  time  he  was  on  his 
toes,  his  hands  in  the  air  tossing  the  velvet  curtains 
aside  with  a  swing  as  he  sprang  inside. 

"Madeleine's  home  from  the  West!"  he  burst  out. 
"  Now  at  last  you'll  see  her,  and  you've  got  to  paint 
her,  too.  Oh,  she  knows  all  about  the  portrait  and 
how  you  found  it;  and  this  studio  and  the  blossoms 
you  love,  and  everything.  My  letters  have  been  full 
of  nothing  else  all  winter.  She's  crazy  to  see  you." 

"  Not  any  more  crazy  than  I  am  to  see  her,"  laughed 
Adam,  with  his  hand  on  the  young  man's  shoulder. 

And  so  one  spring  morning — all  beautiful  things 
162 


OLD-FASHIONED  GENTLEMAN 

came  to  him  on  spring  mornings,  Adam  told  her — 
Madeleine  pushed  her  pretty  little  head  between  the 
velvet  curtains  and  peered  in,  Phil  close  behind  her,  a 
bunch  of  violets  in  his  button-hole. 

"This  is  dear  Adam  Gregg,  Madeleine,"  was  her 
lover's  introduction,  "and  there's  nobody  like  him,  and 
never  will  be." 

The  girl  stopped,  the  overhead  light  falling  on  her 
dainty  hat  and  trim  figure;  her  black  eyes  in  compre 
hensive  glance  taking  in  Adam  standing  against  a  hazy 
background  of  beautiful  things  with  both  hands  out 
stretched. 

"And  I  am  so  glad  to  be  here  and  to  know  you," 
she  said,  walking  straight  towards  him  and  laying  her 
little  hands  in  his. 

"And  so  am  I,"  answered  Adam.  "And  I  know 
everything  about  you.  Phil  says  you  can  ride  like 
the  wind,  and  dance  so  that  your  toes  never  touch  the 
floor,  and  that  you " 

"Yes,  and  so  do  I  know  every  single  thing  about 
you" — here  she  looked  at  him  critically — "and  you — 
yes,  you  are  just  as  I  hoped  you  would  be.  Phil's 
letters  have  had  nothing  else  in  them  since  you  be 
witched  him  and  I've  just  been  wild  to  get  home  and 
have  him  bring  me  here.  What  a  lovely  place!  Isn't 
it  wonderful,  Phil?  .  .  .  And  is  that  the  portrait? 
Oh!  what  a  beautiful,  beautiful  woman!" 

She  had  left  Gregg  now — before  he  had  had  time  to 
say  another  word  in  praise  of  her — and  was  standing 
under  the  picture,  her  eyes  gazing  into  its  depths. 

163 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  AX 

Adam  kept  perfectly  still,  completely  charmed  by  her 
dainty  joyousness.  He  felt  as  if  some  rare  bird  had 
flown  in  which  would  be  frightened  away  if  he  moved 
a  hair's  breadth.  Phil  stood  apart  watching  every 
expression  that  crossed  her  happy  face.  He  had  been 
waiting  weeks  for  this  moment. 

"You  haven't  her  eyes  or  her  hair,  Phil/'  she  con 
tinued  without  turning  her  head,  "  but  you  look  at  me 
that  way  sometimes.  I  don't  know  what  it  is — she's 
happy,  and  she's  not  happy.  She  loved  somebody— 
that's  it,  she  loved  somebody  and  her  eyes  follow  you 
so — they  seem  alive — and  the  lips  as  if  they  could 
speak. 

"And  now,  Mr.  Gregg,  please  show  me  every  one 
of  these  beautiful  things."  She  had  already,  with  her 
quick  intuition,  seen  through  Adam's  personality  at  a 
glance,  and  found  out  how  thoroughly  she  could  trust 
him. 

He  obeyed  as  gallantly  and  as  cheerfully  as  if  he 
had  been  her  own  age,  pulling  open  the  drawers  of  the 
cabinets,  taking  out  this  curio  and  that,  lifting  the  lid 
of  the  old  Venetian  wedding-chest  that  she  might 
herself  pry  among  the  velvets  and  embroideries;  she 
dropping  on  her  knees  beside  it  with  all  the  fluttering 
joy  of  a  child  who  had  come  suddenly  upon  a  box  of 
toys;  Phil  following  them  around  the  room  putting  in 
a  word  here  and  there,  reminding  Adam  of  something 
he  had  forgotten,  or  calling  her  attention  to  some  ob 
ject  hidden  in  a  shadow  that  even  her  quick  absorbing 
glance  had  overlooked. 

164 


OLD-FASHIONED  -GENTLEMAN 

Once  more  she  stopped  before  the  portrait,  her  eyes 
drinking  in  its  beauty. 

"Don't  you  love  it,  Mr.  Gregg?" 

"Yes,  but  I'm  going  to  give  it  to  your — to  Philip." 

"  Oh !  you  know !  do  you  ?  Yes,  just  say  it  out.  We 
are  going  to  be  married  just  as  soon  as  we  can — next 
October  is  the  very  latest  date.  I  told  father  we  were 
tired  of  waiting  and  he  has  promised  me;  we  would 
have  been  married  this  spring  but  for  that  horrid  cop 
per  mine  that  the  deeper  you  go  the  less  copper — 

"  Oh,  but  Madeleine,"  protested  Philip  with  a  sud 
den  flush  in  his  face,  "  that  was  some  time  ago;  every 
thing's  all  right  now." 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  much  about  it;  I  only  repeated 
what  father  said." 

And  then  having  had  her  fill  of  all  the  pretty  things 
— some  she  must  go  back  to  half  a  dozen  times  in  her 
delight — especially  some  "  ducky"  little  china  dogs  that 
were  "just  too  sweet  for  anything";  and  having  dis 
cussed  to  her  heart's  content  all  the  details  of  the  com 
ing  wedding — especially  the  part  where  Adam  was  to 
walk  close  behind  them  on  their  way  up  the  aisle  of  the 
church  as  a  sort  of  fairy  godfather  to  give  Phil  away— 
the  joyous  little  bird,  followed  by  the  happy  young 
lover,  spread  her  dainty  wings  and  flew  away. 

And  thus  it  was  that  two  new  spirits  were  added  to 
Adam  Gregg's  long  list  of  friends :  One  the  young  man, 
earnest,  alert,  losing  no  chance  in  his  business,  awake 
to  all  the  changes  in  the  ever-shifting  market,  con 
versant  with  every  move  of  his  opponents  and  meet- 

165 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED  GENTLEMAN 

ing  them  with  a  shrewdness — and  sometimes,  Adam 
thought — with  a  cunning  far  beyond  his  years.  The 
other,  the  fresh,  outspoken,  merry  young  girl,  fluttering 
in  and  out  like  a  bird  in  her  ever-changing  plumage — 
ROW  in  hat  loaded  with  tea-roses,  now  in  trim  walking 
costume  fitting  her  dainty  figure;  now  in  her  water 
proof,  her  wee  little  feet  "wringing  wet"  she  would  tell 
Adam  with  a  laugh — always  a  welcome  guest,  no  mat 
ter  who  had  his  chair,  or  whose  portrait  or  what  work 
required  his  brush. 


166 


VIII 

One  afternoon,  some  days  after  Philip's  return  from 
an  inspection  of  the  mines  of  the  Portage  Copper  Com 
pany,  and  an  hour  ahead  of  his  usual  time,  the  velvet 
curtain  was  pushed  aside  and  the  young  man  walked  in. 
Not  only  did  he  move  with  his  most  important  "  bank 
director's  step,"  but  he  brought  with  him  an  air  of 
responsibility  only  seen  in  magnates  who  control  the 
destinies  of  corporations  and  the  savings  of  their  stock 
holders. 

"What's  the  matter,  Phil?"  asked  Adam  with  a 
laugh.  "  Have  they  made  you  president  of  the  Stock 
Exchange,  or  has  the  Government  turned  over  its  de 
posits  to  your  keeping,  or  has  the  wedding-day  been 
set  for  to-morrow?" 

"Wedding-day's  all  right;  closer  than  ever,  but  I've 
got  something  that  knocks  being  president  of  the  Ex 
change  cold.  Our  scheme  is  about  fixed  up  and  it's 
to  be  floated  next  week — float  anything  on  this  market 
— that's  better  than  being  president  or  anything  else. 
Our  attorneys  brought  in  the  papers  this  morning,  and 
they  will  be  signed  at  our  office  to-morrow  at  eleven- 
thirty.  The  Seaboard  Trust  Company  are  going  to 
take  half  the  bonds  and  two  out-of-town  banks  the 

1G7 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  AN 

balance.  That  puts  us  on  our  legs  and  keeps  us  there, 
and  I  don't  mind  telling  you" — and  he  looked  around 
as  if  fearing  to  be  overhead — "we've  got  to  have  this 
money  or —  Well,  there's  no  use  of  my  going  into  that, 
because  it's  all  over  now,  or  will  be  when  this  loan's 
floated.  But  I  want  to  tell  you  that  we've  had  some 
pretty  tough  sledding  lately — some  that  the  old  man 
doesn't  know  about." 

Adam  looked  up;  any  danger  that  threatened  Phil 
always  enlisted  his  sympathy. 

"  Tell  me  about  it.  I  can't  follow  these  operations. 
Most  of  them  are  all  Greek  to  me." 

"  Well,  as  I  say,  we've  got  to  have  money,  a  whole 
lot  of  it,  or  there's  no  telling  when  Madeleine  and  I  will 
ever  be  married.  And  the  Portage  Company  has  got 
to  have  money;  they  have  struck  bottom  so  far  as  their 
finances  go  and  can't  go  on  without  help.  God  knows 
I've  worked  hard  enough  over  it — been  doing  nothing 
else  for  weeks." 

"  What  do  you  float?"  Adam  was  prepared  to  give 
him  his  best  attention. 

"  One  million  refunding  bonds — half  to  take  up  the 
old  issue  and  the  balance  for  improvements.  Our 
wedding  comes  in  the  'improvements,'"  and  Philip 
winked  meaningly. 

"  Is  there  enough  copper  in  the  mine  to  warrant  the 
issue?"  Adam  asked,  recalling  Madeleine's  remark 
about  the  deeper  they  went  the  less  copper  there  was 
in  the  mine. 

"What's  that  got  to  do  with  it?" 
168 


OLD-FASHIONED  GENTLEMAN 

"Everything,  I  should  think.  You  examined  it — 
didn't  you  ? — and  should  know." 

"Yes,  but  nobody  has  asked  me  for  an  opinion. 
The  company's  engineer  attends  to  that." 

"What  do  you  think  yourself,  Phil?" 

"  I  don't  think.  I'm  not  paid  to  think.  The  other 
fellow  does  the  thinking  and  I  do  the  selling." 

"What  does  Mr.  Eggleston  say?" 

"  He  doesn't  say.  He  isn't  paid  for  saying.  What 
he  wants  is  his  six  per  cent,  and  that's  what  we've  got 
to  earn.  This  new  deal  earns  it." 

"  Does  the  trust  company  know  anything  about  the 
mine?" 

"  Why,  of  course,  everything.  Those  fellows  don't 
need  a  guardian.  They've  got  the  mining  engineer's 
sworn  certificate,  and  they  trust  to  that  and — 

"And  to  the  standing  of  your  house,"  Adam  inter 
rupted. 

"  Certainly.  Why  not  ?  That's  what  we're  in  busi 
ness  for." 

"  But  what  do  you  think  of  it — you,  remember;  you 
— Philip  Colton — are  you  willing  to  swear  that  the  irine 
is  worth  the  money  the  trust  company  will  lend  on  it  ? ' 

"I  make  an  affidavit!  Not  much!  What  I  say  is 
everybody's  property;  what  I  think  is  nobody's  busi 
ness  but  my  own.  The  mine  may  strike  virgin  copper 
in  chunks  and  it  may  not.  That's  where  the  gamble 
comes  in.  If  it  does  the  bonus  stock  they  get  for  noth 
ing  will  be  worth  par."  He  was  a  little  ashamed  as  he 
said  it.  He  was  merely  repeating  what  he  had  told  his 

169 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  AN 

customers  in  advance  of  the  issue,  but  they  had  not 
returned  his  gaze  with  Adam's  eyes. 

"  But  you  in  your  heart,  Phil,  are  convinced  that  it 
will  not  strike  virgin  copper,  aren't  you  ?  So  much  so 
that  you  wouldn't  take  Madeleine's  money,  or  my 
money,  to  put  into  it."  These  search-lights  of  Gregg's 
had  a  way  of  uncovering  many  secret  places. 

Philip  turned  in  his  chair  and  looked  at  Adam. 
"What  was  the  matter  with  the  dear  fellow  this  after 
noon,  he  said  to  himself. 

"Certainly  not — and  for  two  reasons:  first,  you  are 
not  in  the  Street;  and  second,  because  I  never  gamble 
with  a  friend's  money." 

"  But  you  gamble  with  the  money  of  the  innocent 
men  and  women  who  believe  in  your  firm,  and  who  in 
the  end  buy  these  bonds  of  the  trust  company,  don't 
you?" 

"  Well,  but  what  have  we  got  to  do  with  the  bonds 
after  we  sell  them?  We  are  not  running  the  mine, 
wTe're  only  getting  money  for  them  to  run  it  on,  and 
incidentally  our  commissions,"  and  he  smiled  know 
ingly.  "The  trust  company  does  the  same  thing. 
This  widow-and-orphan  business  is  about  played  out 
in  the  Street.  The  shrewdest  buyers  we  have  are  just 
these  people,  and  they  get  their  cent  per  cent  every 
time.  Don't  you  bother  your  dear  old  head  over  this 
matter;  just  be  glad  it's  coming  out  all  right — I  am, 
I  tell  you!" 

Gregg  had  risen  from  his  chair  and  was  standing 
over  Philip  with  a  troubled  look  on  his  face. 

170 


OLD-FASHIONED  GENTLEMAN 

"Phil,"  he  said  slowly,  "look  at  me.  From  what 
you  tell  me,  you  can't  issue  these  bonds!  You  can't 
afford  to  do  it — no  honest  man  can!" 

The  young  financier  lay  back  in  his  chair  and  broke 
out  into  laughter. 

"  Old  Gentleman,"  he  said,  as  he  reached  up  his 
hand  and  laid  it  affectionately  on  Gregg's  waistcoat — 
it  was  a  pet  name  of  his — "you  just  stick  to  your 
brushes  and  paints  and  I'll  stick  to  my  commissions. 
If  everybody  in  the  Street  had  such  old-fashioned  no 
tions  as  you  have  we'd  starve  to  death.  We've  got  to 
take  risks,  everybody  has.  You  might  as  well  say 
that  when  a  stock  is  going  up  and  against  us  we 
shouldn't  cover  right  away  to  save  ourselves  from  fur 
ther  loss;  or  that  when  it's  going  down  we  shouldn't 
sell  and  saddle  the  other  fellow  with  the  slump  while 
we  get  from  under.  Now  I'm  going  home  to  tell  Made 
leine  the  good  news;  she's  been  on  pins  and  needles 
for  a  week." 

Gregg  began  pacing  the  floor,  his  hands  behind  his 
back.  His  movements  were  so  unusual  and  his  face 
bore  so  troubled  a  look  that  Philip,  who  had  thrown 
away  his  cigar  and  had  picked  up  his  hat  preparatory 
to  leaving  the  room,  delayed  his  departure. 

Adam  halted  in  front  of  him  and  now  stood  gazing 
into  his  face,  an  expression  on  his  own  that  showed  the 
younger  man  how  keenly  he  had  taken  the  refusal. 

"  I  know  I'm  old-fashioned,  Phil — I  have  a  right  to 
be.  I  come  of  old-fashioned  stock — so  do  you.  All 
that  you  tell  me  of  your  father  convinces  me  that  he 

171 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  AN 

was  an  upright  man.  He  was  severe  at  times,  and 
dominating,  but  he  was  honest.  Your  mother's  purity 
and  goodness  shine  out  here,"  and  he  pointed  to  the 
portrait.  "This  is  your  heritage,  and  your  only  heri 
tage — something  that  millions  of  money  cannot  buy, 
and  which  you  cannot  sell,  no  matter  what  price  is  paid 
you  for  it.  You,  their  son" — Gregg  stopped  and 
hesitated,  the  words  seemed  to  clog  in  his  throat — 
"  must  not — shall  not!"  (the  way  was  clear  now)  "  com 
mit  a  crime  which  would  bring  a  blush  to  their  cheeks 
if  they  were  alive  to-day.  Dont,  I  beseech  you,  my 
boy,  lend  your  young  manhood  to  this  swindle.  It 
is  infamous,  it  is  damnable.  It  shall  not — cannot  be. 
You  love  me  too  well  to  refuse;  promise  me  you  will 
stop  this  whole  business." 

Colton  was  astounded.  In  all  his  intercourse  with 
Gregg  he  had  never  seen  him  moved  like  this.  He 
knew  what  had  caused  it.  Gregg's  sedentary  life,  his 
being  so  much  away  from  the  business  side  of  things 
had  warped  his  judgment  and  upset  his  reasoning 
powers.  Not  to  make  commissions  on  a  loan  that  the 
first  mining  expert  in  the  country  had  declared  good, 
and  which  the  biggest  trust  company  in  the  Street  and 
two  outside  banks  were  willing  to  underwrite!  Gregg 
was  crazy!  This  came  of  talking  business  to  such  a 
man.  He  should  have  confined  himself  to  more  rest 
ful  topics — topics  which  he  really  loved  best.  After 
all,  it  was  his  fault,  not  Adam's. 

"All  right,  old  fellow;  don't  let  us  talk  any  more 
about  it/'  he  said  in  the  tone  he  would  have  used  to 

172 


Promise  me  that  you  will  stop  the  whole  business." 


OLD-FASHIONED  GENTLEMAN 

pacify  a  woman  who  had  lost  her  temper.  "Some 
other  time  when " 

Adam  resumed  his  walk  without  listening  further. 
He  saw  how  futile  had  been  his  appeal  and  the  thought 
alarmed  him  all  the  more. 

"Put  down  your  hat,  Phil."  The  calmness  of  his 
voice  was  singularly  in  contrast  to  the  tone  of  the  out 
burst.  "Take  your  seat  again.  Wait  until  I  lock  the 
door.  I  have  something  to  say  to  you  and  we  must 
not  be  interrupted." 

He  turned  the  key,  drew  the  heavy  curtains  together, 
and  dragging  his  chair  opposite  Phil's  so  that  he  could 
look  squarely  in  his  eyes,  sat  down  in  front  of  him. 

"  My  son,"  he  began,  "  I  am  going  to  tell  you  some 
thing  which  has  been  locked  in  my  own  heart  ever  since 
you  were  a  boy  of  five.  Something  I  have  never  told 
you  before  because  it  only  brought  sorrow  and  suffer 
ing  to  me,  and  I  wanted  only  the  sunny  side  of  life  for 
you  and  Madeleine,  and  so  I  have  kept  still.  I  tell  you 
now  in  the  hope  that  it  may  save  you  from  an  act  you 
will  never  cease  to  regret. 

"There  comes  a  time  in  every  man's  life  when  he 
meets  the  fork  in  the  road.  This  is  his  crisis.  One 
path  leads  to  destruction,  the  other,  perhaps,  to  misery 
—but  a  misery  in  which  he  can  still  look  every  man  in 
the  face  and  his  God  as  well.  You  have  reached  it. 
You  may  not  think  so,  but  you  have.  Carry  out  what 
you  have  told  me  and  you  are  no  longer  an  honest 
man.  Don't  be  offended.  Listen  and  don't  interrupt 
me.  Nothing  you  could  say  to  me  would  hurt  my 

173 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  AN 

heart;  nothing  I  shall  say  to  you  should  hurt  yours. 
I  love  you  with  a  love  you  know  not  of.  I  loved  you 
when  you  were  no  higher  than  my  knee." 

Phil  looked  at  him  in  amazement,  and  was  about  to 
speak  when  Adam  waved  his  hand. 

"No,  don't  speak.  Hear  me  until  I  have  finished. 
Only  to  save  the  boy  she  loved  would  I  lay  bare  my 
heart  as  I  am  going  to  do  to  you  now.  Turn  your 
head!  Do  you  see  that  picture?  I  painted  it  some 
twenty-five  years  ago;  you  were  a  child  then,  five 
years  old.  I  was  younger  than  you  are  now;  full  of 
my  art;  full  of  the  promise  of  life.  Your  father's 
home  was  a  revelation  to  me:  the  comfort  of  it,  the 
servants,  the  luxury,  the  warm  welcome  he  gave  me, 
the  way  he  treated  me,  not  as  a  stranger,  but  as  a  son. 
A  few  days  after  I  arrived  he  left  me  in  charge  of  his 
home.  Your  mother  was  three  years  younger  than  I 
was;  you  were  a  little  fellow  tugging  at  her  skirts. 

"The  four  weeks  that  followed,  while  your  father 
was  away  and  I  was  painting  the  portrait,  were  to  me  a 
dream.  At  the  end  of  it  I  awoke  in  torment.  I  had 
reached  the  fork  in  my  road:  one  path  lay  to  perdition, 
the  other  to  a  suffering  that  has  followed  me  all  my  life. 
Your  father  was  an  austere  man  of  about  my  own  age 
now;  it  was  not  a  happy  union — it  was  as  if  Madeleine 
and  I  should  be  married.  Your  mother,  girl  as  she 
was,  respected  and  honored  him  and  had  no  other 
thought  except  her  duty;  I  saw  it  and  tried  to  comfort 
her.  The  day  of  your  father's  return  home  he  came 
up  into  the  garret  which  had  been  turned  into  a  studio 

174 


OLD-FASHIONED  GENTLEMAN 

to  see  the  portrait.  The  scene  that  followed  has  al 
ways  been  to  me  a  horror.  He  denounced  her  and  me. 
He  even  went  so  far  as  to  say  the  picture  was  immodest 
because  of  the  gown,  and  in  his  anger  turned  it  to  the 
wall.  You  can  see  for  yourself  how  unjust  wn.s  that 
criticism.  He  found  out  he  was  wrong  and  said  so 
afterward,  but  it  did  not  heal  the  wound.  Your 
mother  was  crushed  and  outraged. 

"That  night  she  came  up  to  the  studio  and  poured 
out  her  heart  to  me.  I  won't  go  over  it — I  cannot. 
There  was  in  her  eyes  something  that  frightened  me. 
Then  my  own  were  opened.  Down  in  front  of  me  lay 
an  abyss;  around  it  were  the  two  paths.  All  night  I 
paced  the  floor;  I  laid  my  soul  bare;  I  pleaded;  I 
argued  with  myself.  I  reasoned  it  out  with  God;  I 
urged  her  unhappiness — the  difference  in  their  ages; 
the  harshness  of  the  older  man;  her  patient  submis 
sion.  Then  there  rose  up  before  me  the  sterner  law — 
my  own  responsibility;  the  trust  placed  in  my  hands; 
her  youth,  my  youth.  Gradually  the  mist  in  my  mind 
cleared  and  I  saw  the  path  ahead.  There  was  but  one 
road:  that  I  must  take! 

"When  the  dawn  broke  I  lifted  the  portrait  from 
where  your  father  had  placed  it  with  its  face  against  the 
wall;  kissed  it  with  all  the  reverence  a  boy's  soul  could 
have  for  his  ideal,  crept  down  the  stairs,  saddled  my 
horse  and  rode  away. 

"Ten  years  later — after  your  father's  death — I  again 
went  to  Derwood  Manor — in  the  autumn — in  Novem 
ber.  I  wanted  to  look  into  her  face  once  more — even 

175 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  AN 

before  I  looked  into  my  own  father's — to  see  the  brook 
we  loved,  the  hills  we  wandered  over,  the  porch  where 
we  sat  and  talked.  I  had  heard  nothing  of  the  house 
being  in  ruins,  or  of  your  mother's  death.  Everything 
was  gone!  Everything — everything!" 

Adam  rested  his  head  in  his  hands,  his  fingers  shield 
ing  his  eyes.  Philip  sat  looking  at  him  in  silence,  his 
face  torn  with  conflicting  emotions — astonishment, 
sympathy,  an  intense  love  for  the  man  predominating. 
Adam  continued,  the  words  coming  in  half-muffled 
tones,  from  behind  his  hands,  as  if  he  were  talking  to 
himself,  with  now  and  then  a  pause. 

"  You  wonder,  Phil,  why  I  live  alone  this  way — you 
often  ask  me  that  question.  Do  you  know  why  ?  It 
is  because  I  have  never  been  able  to  love  any  other 
woman.  She  set  a  standard  for  me  that  no  other  wom 
an  has  ever  filled.  All  my  young  life  was  bound  up 
in  her  long  after  I  left  her.  For  years  I  thought  of 
nothing  else;  my  only  hope  was  in  keeping  away.  I 
would  not  be  responsible  for  myself  or  for  her  if  we 
ever  met  again.  She  wasn't  mine;  she  was  your 
father's.  She  couldn't  be  mine  as  long  as  he  was 
alive." 

He  raised  his  head  and  resumed  his  old  position,  his 
voice  rising,  his  earnest,  determined  manner  dom 
inating  his  words. 

"  I  ask  you  now,  Phil,  what  would  have  become  of 
you  if  I  had  left  that  stain  upon  his  name  and  upon 
yours?  Who  brought  me  to  myself?  She  did! 
How  ?  By  her  confidence  in  me ;  that  gave  me  my 

176 


OLD-FASHIONED  GENTLEMAN 

strength.  I  knew  that  night,  as  well  as  I  know  that 
I  am  sitting  here,  that  we  could  not  go  on  the  way 
we  had  been  going  with  safety.  I  knew  also  that  it  all 
rested  with  me.  For  me  to  unsettle  her  love  for  your 
father  during  his  lifetime  would  have  been  damnable. 
Only  one  thing  was  left — flight —  That  I  took  and 
that  you  must  take.  Turn  your  eyes,  Phil,  and  look  at 
her.  She  saved  me  from  myself;  she  will  save  you 
from  yourself.  Do  you  suppose  that  anything  but 
purity,  goodness,  and  truth  ever  came  from  out  those 
lips  ?  Do  you  think  she  would  be  satisfied  with  any 
thing  else  in  her  boy?  Be  a  man,  my  son!  Strangle 
this  temptation  that  threatens  to  stain  your  soul.  No 
matter  what  comes — even  if  you  beg  your  bread — put 
this  thing  under  your  feet.  Look  your  God  in  the 
face!" 

During  the  long  recital  Phil's  mind  had  gone  back 
to  his  childhood's  days  in  confirmation  of  the  strange 
story.  As  Adam  talked  on,  his  eyes  flashing,  his  voice 
tremulous  with  the  pathos  of  the  story  he  was  pouring 
into  the  young  man's  astonished  ears,  one  picture  after 
another  rose  dimly  out  of  the  listener's  past:  The  big 
lounge  in  the  garret  where  his  mother  held  him  in  her 
arms;  the  high  window  with  the  light  flooding  the  floor 
of  the  room;  the  jar  of  blossoms  into  which  he  had 
thrust  his  little  face. 

He  did  not  move  when  Adam  finished,  nor  for  some 
minutes  did  he  speak.  At  last  he  said  in  a  voice  that 
showed  how  deeply  he  had  been  stirred: 

"  It's  all  true.  It  all  comes  back  to  me  now.  I 
177 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  AN 

must  have  been  too  young  to  remember  you,  but  I  re 
member  the  picture.  I  looked  for  it  everywhere  after 
she  died,  but  I  couldn't  find  it.  Then  came  the  fire 
and  everything  was  swept  away.  Some  one  must  have 
stolen  it  while  we  were  in  Baltimore.  And  you  have 
loved  my  mother  all  these  years,  Gregg,  and  never  told 
me?" 

He  was  on  his  feet  now  and  had  his  arm  around 
Adam's  shoulder.  "Couldn't  you  trust  me,  Old 
Gentleman?  Don't  you  know  how  close  you  are  to 
me?  Did  you  think  I  wouldn't  understand?  What 
you  tell  me  about  your  leaving  her  is  no  surprise. 
You  wouldn't — you  couldn't  do  anything  else.  That's 
because  you  are  a  man  and  a  gentleman.  You  are  do 
ing  such  things  every  day  of  your  life;  that's  why  every 
body  loves  you.  As  to  what  you  want  me  to  do,  don't 
say  any  more  to  me" — the  tears  he  was  hiding  were 
choking  him.  "Let  me  go  home.  What  you  have 
told  me  of  my  mother,  of  yourself — everything  has 
knocked  me  out.  My  judgment  has  gone — I  must 
think  it  all  over.  I  know  every  word  you  have  said 
about  the  loan  is  true;  but  I  haven't  told  you  all.  The 
situation  is  worse  than  you  think.  Everything  de 
pends  on  it — Madeleine — her  father — all  of  us.  If  I 
could  have  found  some  other  plan — if  you  had  only 
talked  to  me  this  way  before.  But  I've  promised  them 
all — they  expect  it.  No!  Don't  speak  to  me.  Don't 
say  another  word.  Let  me  go  home."  And  he  flung 
himself  from  the  room. 

Adam  sat  still.  The  confession  had  wrung  his  soul; 
178 


OLD-FASHIONED  GENTLEMAN 

the  pain  seemed  unbearable.  What  the  outcome 
would  be  God  only  knew.  With  a  quick  movement, 
as  if  seeking  relief,  he  rose  to  his  feet  and  walked  to  the 
portrait.  Then  lifting  his  hands  above  his  head  with 
the  movement  of  a  despairing  suppliant  before  the 
Madonna  he  cried  out: 

"  Help  him,  my  beloved.     Help  him  as  you  did  me." 


179 


IX 

At  the  offices  of  Philip  Colton  &  Co.,  just  off  Wall 
Street,  an  unusual  stir  was  apparent — an  air  of  ex 
pectancy  seemed  to  pervade  everything.  The  cashier 
had  arrived  at  his  desk  half  an  hour  earlier  than  usual, 
and  so  had  the  stock  clerk  and  the  two  book-keepers. 
This  had  been  in  accordance  with  Mr.  Colton's  instruc 
tions  the  night  before,  and  they  had  been  carried  out 
to  the  minute.  The  papers  in  the  big  copper  loan,  he 
had  told  the  stock  clerk,  were  to  be  signed  at  half-past 
eleven  o'clock  the  next  morning,  and  he  wanted  all  the 
business  of  the  preceding  day  cleaned  up  and  out  of  the 
way  before  the  new  deal  went  through.  This  accom 
plished,  he  said  to  himself,  Mr.  Eggleston  would  be 
able  to  retire  a  part  if  not  all  of  his  special  capital,  and 
his  dear  Madeleine,  to  quote  a  morning  journal,  find 
a  place  by  the  side  of  "  one  of  the  bright  young  finan-  ' 
ciers  of  our  time." 

Mr.  Eggleston,  in  tan-colored  waistcoat,  white  gaiters 
and  shiny  silk  hat,  a  gold-headed  cane  in  one  hand — 
the  embodiment  of  a  prosperous  man  of  affairs — also 
arrived  half  an  hour  earlier — ten  o'clock,  really,  an 
event  that  caused  some  astonishment,  for  not  twice  in 
the  whole  year  had  the  special  partner  reached  his 
son's  office  so  early  in  the  day. 

ISO 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED  GENTLEMAN 

Young  Eggleston  reached  his  desk  a  few  minutes 
after  his  father.  His  dress  was  as  costly  as  his  pro 
genitor's,  but  a  trifle  more  insistent.  The  waistcoat 
was  speckled  with  red;  the  scarf  a  brilliant  scarlet 
decorated  with  a  horseshoe  set  in  diamonds,  and  the 
shoes  patent  leather.  He  was  one  size  smaller  than 
his  father  and  had  one-tenth  of  his  brains.  With  re 
gard  to  every  other  measurement,  however,  there  was 
not  the  slightest  doubt  but  that  in  a  few  years  he 
would  equal  his  distinguished  father's  outlines,  a  fact 
already  discernible  in  his  middle  distance.  In  looking 
around  for  the  missing  nine-tenths  of  gray  matter  his 
father  had  found  it  under  Philip  Colton's  hat,  and 
the  formation  of  the  firm,  with  himself  as  special  and 
his  son  as  junior,  had  been  the  result. 

At  half-past  ten  Mr.  Eggleston  began  to  be  nervous. 
Every  now  and  then  he  would  walk  out  into  the  main 
office,  interview  one  of  the  clerks  as  to  his  knowledge 
of  Phil's  whereabouts  and  return  again  to  his  private 
office,  where  he  occupied  himself  drumming  on  the 
desk  with  the  end  of  his  gold  pencil,  and  watching  the 
clock.  The  junior  had  no  such  misgivings — none  of 
any  kind.  He  had  a  game  of  polo  that  afternoon  at 
three,  and  was  chiefly  concerned  lest  the  day's  work 
might  intervene.  The  signing  of  similar  papers  had 
once  kept  him  at  the  office  until  five. 

At  eleven  o'clock  a  messenger  with  a  bank-book 
fastened  to  his  waist  by  a  steel  chain,  brought  a  mes 
sage.  "  The  treasurer  of  the  Seaboard,  with  the  com 
pany's  attorney,  would  be  at  Mr.  Eggleston's  office," 

181 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  AN 

the  message  read,  "  in  half  an  hour,  to  sign  the  papers. 
Would  he  be  sure  to  have  Mr.  Philip  Colton  present." 
(The  special's  social  and  financial  position  earned  him 
this  courtesy;  most  of  the  other  magnates  had  to  go  to 
the  trust  company  to  culminate  such  transactions.) 

The  character  of  the  message  and  Philip's  continued 
delay  only  increased  Mr.  Eggleston's  uneasiness.  The 
stock  clerk  was  called  in,  as  well  as  one  of  the  book 
keepers.  "  What  word,  if  any,  had  Mr.  Colton  given 
the  night  before  ?  "  he  asked  impatiently.  "  WThat  hour 
did  he  leave  the  office  ?  Did  any  one  know  of  any  busi 
ness  which  could  have  detained  him?  had  any  telegram 
been  received  and  mislaid?" — the  sum  of  the  replies 
being  that  neither  word,  letter  nor  telegram  had  been 
received,  to  which  was  added  the  proffered  informa 
tion  that  judging  from  Mr.  Colton's  instructions  the 
night  before  that  gentleman  must  certainly  be  ill  or  he 
would  have  "showed  up"  before  this. 

A  few  minutes  before  half-past  eleven  the  treasurer 
and  his  attorney  were  shown  into  the  firm's  office,  the 
former  a  man  of  sixty,  with  a  cold,  smooth-shaven  face, 
ferret  eyes  and  thin,  straight  lips,  thin  as  the  edges  of 
a  tight-shut  clam,  and  as  bloodless.  He  was  dressed 
in  black  and  wore  a  white  necktie  which  gave  him  a 
certain  ministerial  air.  His  companion,  the  attorney, 
was  younger  and  warmer  looking,  and  a  trifle  stouter, 
with  bushy  gray  locks  under  his  hat  brim,  and  bushy 
gray  side-whiskers  under  two  red  ears  that  lay  flat 
against  his  head.  He  wras  anything  but  ministerial, 
either  in  deportment  or  language.  What  he  didn't 

182 


OLD-FASHIONED  GENTLEMAN 

know  about  corporation  law  wouldn't  have  been  of  the 
slightest  value  to  anybody — not  even  to  a  would-be 
attorney  passing  an  examination.  Both  men  were 
short  in  their  speech  and  incisively  polite,  with  a  quick 
step-in  and  step-out  air  about  them  which  showed 
how  thoroughly  they  had  been  trained  in  the  school 
of  Street  courtesy — the  wasting  of  a  minute  of  each 
other's  valuable  time  being  the  unpardonable  sin. 

"Glad  to  see  you,  Mr.  Eggleston,"  exclaimed  the 
treasurer,  with  one  finger  extended,  into  which  the 
special  hooked  his  own.  The  official  did  not  see  the 
junior  partner;  he  dealt  only  with  principals. 

"  Our  attorney,"  he  continued,  nodding  to  his  com 
panion,  "has  got  the  papers.  Are  you  all  ready? 
Where  is  Mr.  Colton?"  and  he  looked  around. 

"  I'm  expecting  him  every  minute,"  replied  the  spe 
cial  in  a  nervous  tone;  "but  we  can  get  along  without 
him.  My  son  is  here  to  sign  for  the  firm." 

"No,  we  can't  get  along.  I  want  him.  I  have 
some  questions  to  ask  him;  these  are  President  Stock 
ton's  directions." 

Before  Eggleston  could  reply  the  door  of  the  private 
office  was  thrust  open  and  Philip  stepped  in. 

Mr.  Eggleston  sprang  from  his  chair,  and  a  com 
bination  smile  showing  urbanity,  apology,  and  con 
tentment,  now  that  Phil  had  arrived,  overspread  his 
features. 

"We  had  begun  to  think  you  were  ill,  Colton,"  he 
said  in  a  relieved  tone.  "Anything  the  matter?" 

"  No,  I  stopped  to  see  Mr.  Gregg.  I  am  on  time,  I 
183 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  AN 

believe,  gentlemen,  half-past  eleven,  wasn't  it?"  and 
he  consulted  his  watch.  There  was  a  peculiar  tremor 
in  Phil's  voice  that  made  his  prospective  father-in-law 
fasten  his  eyes  upon  him  as  if  to  learn  the  cause.  Col- 
ton  looked  as  if  he  had  been  awake  all  night;  he  was 
pale,  but  otherwise  he  was  himself. 

"  Yes,  you  are  on  the  minute,"  exclaimed  the  treas 
urer,  picking  up  the  bundle  of  papers  and  loosening 
the  tape  that  bound  them  together.  "You  have  just 
returned  from  the  property,  we  hear.  What  do  you 
think  of  it?" 

"We  have  the  certificate  of  the  mining  engineer," 
interrupted  Mr.  Eggleston  in  a  bland  tone,  regaining 
his  seat. 

"Yes,  I  have  it  here,"  the  treasurer  answered,  tap 
ping  the  bundle  of  papers.  "  It  is  your  personal  opin 
ion,  Mr.  Colton,  that  we  want.  The  president  insists 
upon  this;  he  has  a  reason  for  it." 

Colton  stepped  nearer  and  looked  the  treasurer 
square  in  the  eyes. 

"My  personal  opinion,  sir,"  he  answered  in  clear- 
cut  tones,  "  is  that  the  deposit  is  practically  exhausted. 
I  came  here  to  tell  you  so.  The  engineer's  report  is, 
I  think,  too  highly  colored." 

Both  father  and  son  started  forward  in  their  chairs, 
their  eyes  glaring  at  Philip.  They  could  hardly  be 
lieve  their  senses. 

"What!"  burst  out  Mr.  Eggleston— " you  don't 
mean  to  say  that 

"One  moment,  please,"  interrupted  the  treasurer, 
184 


OLD-FASHIONED  GENTLEMAN 

with  an  impatient  wave  of  his  hand  towards  Eggleston: 
"  Do  you  think,  Mr.  Colton,  that  the  issue  had  better 
be  deferred?" 

"I  do.  Certainly  until  the  mine  makes  a  better 
showing." 

Again  Mr.  Eggleston  tried  to  interrupt  and  again 
he  was  waved  into  silence. 

"When  did  you  arrive  at  this  conclusion?" 

"This  morning.  I  thought  differently  yesterday, 
but  I  have  changed  my  mind.  So  much  so  that  it 
would  be  impossible  for  me  to  go  on  with  this  loan." 

"Shall  I  take  that  message  to  the  president?" 

"  Yes.  If  I  have  any  cause  to  change  my  opinion  I'll 
let  him  know.  But  it  is  not  likely  I  will — I'm  sorry 
to  have  given  you  all  this  trouble." 

"Thank  you,"  said  the  trust  company's  representa 
tive,  rising  from  his  chair  and  extending  his  hand  to 
Philip.  "  I  might  as  well  tell  you  that  we  have  heard 
similar  reports  and  our  president  felt  sure  that  you 
would  give  him  the  facts.  He  has  great  confidence  in 
you,  Mr.  Colton.  If  he  authorizes  me  to  sign  the 
papers  after  what  you  have  said  to  me  I'll  be  back  here 
in  a  few  moments.  Good-day,  sir!"  and  with  a  grim 
smile  lighting  his  face,  the  treasurer  nodded  himself 
out. 

Eggleston  waited  until  the  trust  company's  attorney 
had  gathered  up  his  papers  and  had  closed  the  door  be 
hind  him — a  mere  matter  of  routine  with  him;  almost 
every  day  a  transaction  of  this  kind  was  either  deferred 
or  culminated — then  he  swung  himself  around  in  his 

185 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  AN 

revolving  chair,  his  cheeks  purple  with  rage,  and  faced 
Philip. 

"Well,  sir!  what  do  you  think  of  the  mess  you've 
made  of  this  morning's  business!  Do  you  for  one 
instant  suppose  that  Stockton  will  go  on  with  this  deal 
after  what  you  have  told  him?" 

"  If  he  did,  sir,  it  would  not  be  with  my  consent," 
answered  Philip  coldly. 

"  Your  consent !  Your  consent !  What  do  you  know 
about  it?  Did  you  ever  mine  a  pound  of  copper  in 
your  life  ?  Did  you  ever  see  a  pound  mined  until  you 
made  this  last  trip  ?  And  yet  you  have  the  effrontery 
to  set  yourself  up  as  an  expert  against  one  of  the  best 
men  in  his  profession !  Do  you  not  know  that  you  have 
made  not  only  the  firm  but  me  ridiculous,  by  your 
stupid  vacillation — and  with  the  Seaboard,  of  all  trust 
companies!  Why  didn't  you  find  out  all  this  before 
you  brought  these  people  down  here?" 

"It  is  never  too  late  to  be  honest,  sir." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that!"  snapped  Eggleston. 

"  I  mean  just  what  I  say."  Philip's  voice  was  with 
out  a  tremor,  low,  forceful  and  decisive.  "  The  float 
ing  of  these  bonds  on  the  present  condition  of  the 
mines  would  have  been  a  fraud.  I  didn't  see  it  in  that 
way  at  first,  but  I  do  see  it  now.  It  is  done  every  day 
in  the  Street,  I  grant  you,  but  it  will  never  be  done 
again  with  my  consent  so  long  as  I  am  a  member  of 
this  firm!" 

Eggleston's  lip  curled.  "You  seem  to  have  grown 
singularly  honest  overnight,  Mr.  Colton,"  he  sneered. 

186 


OLD-FASHIONED  GENTLEMAN 

"According  to  your  ideas  Bates,  Rankin  &  Co.  were 
frauds  when  they  floated  the  Imperial,  and  so  were 
Porter  &  King  when  they  sold  out  the  Morningside 
for  two  millions  of  dollars." 

"  None  of  them  are  paying,  sir,  and  it  was  dishonor 
able  to  float  the  bonds."  He  was  still  on  his  feet,  facing 
his  prospective  father-in-law,  holding  him  at  bay  really. 

"What's  that  got  to  do  with  it?"  snarled  Eggleston. 
"  They  will  pay  sometime.  As  to  your  honor:  That's 
the  cheap  sentiment  you  Southern  men  are  always 
shouting.  Your  kind  of  honor  won't  hold  water  here! 
It  was  your  honor  when  you  tried  to  hold  on  to  your 
niggers;  and  it's  your  honor  when  you  murder  each 
other  in  duels,  and— 

"  Stop,  Mr.  Eggleston ! "  said  Philip,  his  face  white  as 
chalk,  every  muscle  in  his  body  taut — "  this  has  gone 
far  enough.  No  position  that  you  hold  towards  me 
gives  you  the  right  to  speak  as  you  have.  I  have  done 
what  was  right.  I  could  not  have  looked  either  you  or 
Madeleine  in  the  face  if  I  had  done  differently." 

Here  the  door  was  swung  back,  cutting  short  Eggle- 
ston's  reply,  and  a  note  was  passed  in,  the  clerk  mak 
ing  a  hurried  inspection  of  the  faces  of  his  employers, 
as  if  to  learn  the  cause  of  the  disturbance. 

Eggleston  read  it  and  handed  it  to  his  son,  who  so 
far  had  not  opened  his  mouth.  He  could  reach  the 
game  in  time,  anyhow. 

"Just  as  I  expected!"  hissed  Eggleston  between  his 
teeth:  "Must  decline  the  loan,'  he  says.  'Thank 
Mr.  Colton  for  his  frankness.  Stockton,  President.' 

187 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  AN 

Thanks  Mr.  Col  ton,  does  he!  If  you  want  my  opinion 
I'll  tell  you  that  by  your  confounded  backing  and  filling 
you've  thrown  over  the  best  operation  we've  had  since 
this  firm  was  formed.  Find  the  money  somewhere 
else,  Mr.  Colton,  that  I've  put  in,  and  I'll  draw  out. 
This  morning's  work  convinces  me  that  no  sensible 
man's  interests  are  safe  in  your  hands." 

"  That  will  be  difficult,  sir,  when  the  condition  of  our 
firm  is  known,  as  it  must  be.  Furthermore,  it  would 
be  impossible  for  me  to  ask  it.  Since  I've  been  here 
I've  done  my  best  to  look  after  your  interests.  Some 
of  our  ventures,  I  regret  to  say,  have  been  unsuccessful. 
Instead  of  releasing  your  capital  I  shall  need  some  fifty 
thousand  dollars  more  to  carry  us  through.  The  situa 
tion  is  upon  us  and  I  might  as  well  discuss  it  with  you 
now." 

"  We  don't  owe  a  dollar  we  can't  pay,"  blurted  out 
Eggleston,  picking  up  his  hat  and  cane. 

"That  is  true  to-day,  but  to-morrow  it  may  not  be. 
The  refusal  of  this  loan  by  the  Seaboard  will  send  back 
to  us  every  copper  stock  we  have  borrowed  money  on. 
They  are  good,  better  than  Portage,  but  the  banks 
won't  believe  it.  I  want  this  additional  money  to  tide 
this  over." 

"You  won't  get  a  dollar!" 

"  Then  I'll  notify  the  Exchange  of  our  suspension  at 
once.  If  we  stop  now  we  can  carry  out  your  statement 
and  pay  every  dollar  we  owe.  If  we  keep  on  with  the 
market  as  it  is  we  may  not  pay  fifty  cents.  Which  will 
you  do?" 

188 


OLD-FASHIONED  GENTLEMAN 

"  Not  a  dime,  sir!  Not  a  cent!  Do  you  hear  me — 
not  one  cent!  You  two  fools  can  work  it  out  to  suit 
yourselves.  I'm  through  with  you  both!"  and  he 
slammed  the  door  behind  him. 

The  boys  were  already  crying  the  news  of  the  down 
fall  of  his  house  when,  late  that  afternoon,  Philip 
pushed  aside  the  velvet  curtain  and  stepped  into 
Adam's  studio.  He  had  bought  an  extra  on  his  way 
uptown  and  held  it  in  his  hand.  "Failure  in  Wall 
Street!  Philip  Col  ton  &  Co.  suspend!"  the  head 
lines  read. 

"  It's  all  over,  Gregg,"  he  said,  dropping  into  a  chair, 
without  even  offering  the  painter  his  hand. 

"And  he  refused  to  help!"  exclaimed  Adam. 

"Yes,  not  a  cent!  There  was  nothing  else  to  do. 
We  can  pay  every  dollar  we  owe,  but  it  leaves  me 
stranded.  Madeleine  is  the  worst  part  of  it.  I  did  not 
think  she'd  go  back  on  me.  They  are  furious  at  her 
house.  I  stopped  there,  but  she  wouldn't  see  me — 
nobody  would.  She's  wrong,  and  when  she  gets  the 
truth  she'll  think  differently,  but  it's  pretty  hard  while 
it  lasts." 

Adam  laid  his  hand  on  Phil's  shoulder  and  looked 
steadily  into  his  face. 

"Do  you  regret  it,  Phil?"  The  old  search-lights 
were  sweeping  right  and  left  again. 

"Yes,  all  the  trouble  it  brings  and  the  injury  to  the 
firm  and  to  Mr.  Eggleston,  for  I  don't  forget  he's  my 
partner.  I  didn't  think  it  would  end  in  ruin.  I  bun 
gled  it  badly,  maybe." 

189 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  AN 

"Are  you  sorry?" 

"No,  I'd  do  it  over  again!"  answered  Philip  firmly, 
as  he  glanced  at  the  portrait. 

Gregg  tightened  his  grasp  on  Philip's  shoulder. 
"That's  the  true  ring,  my  son!"  he  cried,  his  eyes  filling 
with  tears.  "I've  never  loved  you  as  I  do  this  minute 
Now  you  begin  to  live.  This  day  marks  the  parting, 
of  the  roads:  From  this  day  you  go  forward,  not  back. 
It  doesn't  make  any  difference  what  happens  or  what 
things  you 

"And  you  don't  think  Madeleine  will " 

"  Think  Madeleine  will  lose  her  love  for  you !  You 
don't  know  the  girl — not  for  one  minute.  Of  course, 
everything  is  upside  down,  and  of  course  there'll  be 
bad  blood.  Mr.  Eggleston  is  angry,  but  he'll  get  over 
it.  What  he  has  lost  to-day  he  has  made  a  dozen 
times  over  in  his  career  in  a  single  turn  in  stocks,  and 
will  again.  Keep  your  head  up!  Finish  your  work  at 
the  office;  pay  every  cent  you  owe;  come  back  here 
and  let  me  know  if  anything  is  left,  and  then  we'll  see 
Madeleine.  You'll  find  my  check-book  in  that  desk 
at  your  elbow.  I'll  sign  as  many  checks  in  blank  as 
you  want  and  you  can  fill  them  up  at  your  leisure. 
We'll  fight  this  thing  out  together  and  we'll  win. 
Madeleine  stop  loving  you!  I'll  stake  my  head  she 
won't!" 

Events  move  with  great  rapidity  in  the  Street.  When 
a  tin  case  the  size  of  a  candle-box  can  be  brought  in  by 
two  men  and  a  million  of  property  dumped  out  on  a 
table,  an  immediate  accounting  of  assets  is  not  difficult. 

190 


OLD-FASHIONED  GENTLEMAN 

Once  their  value  is  fixed  by  the  referee  they  can  be 
dealt  to  those  interested  as  easily  as  a  pack  of  cards. 

By  noon  of  the  following  day  not  only  did  the  firm 
of  Philip  Colton  &  Co.  know  exactly  where  they  stood, 
but  so  did  every  one  of  the  firm's  creditors:  Seventy 
per  cent  cash  and  thirty  per  cent  in  sixty  days  was  the 
settlement.  All  their  outside  stocks  had  been  closed 
out  under  the  rule.  Philip's  thorough  business  meth 
ods  and  the  simplicity  and  clearness  with  which  his 
books  had  been  kept  made  such  an  adjustment  not  only 
possible,  but  easy.  The  net  result  was  the  wiping  out 
of  the  special  capital  of  Philip's  prospective  father-in- 
law  and  all  of  his  own  capital  and  earnings.  The 
junior  partner  was  not  affected;  his  allowance  went 
on  as  usual.  He  did  not  even  sell  his  stud;  he  bought 
another  pony.  His  father  gave  him  the  money;  it 
helped  the  family  credit. 

So  far  not  a  word  had  come  from  Madeleine.  Philip 
had  rung  the  bell  of  the  Eggleston  mansion  three  times 
since  that  fatal  morning  and  had  been  told  by  the  but- 
,ler  in  frigid  tones  that  Miss  Eggleston  "was  not  at 
home."  None  of  his  notes  wrere  answered.  That  so 
sensible  a  girl  as  Madeleine,  one  whose  whole  nat 
ure  was  frankness  and  love,  could  be  so  cruel  and  so 
unjust  was  a  disappointment  more  bitter  than  the 
failure. 

"She  has  been  lied  to  by  somebody,"  broke  out 
Philip  as  he  paced  up  and  down  Adam's  studio,  "or 
she  is  locked  up  where  nothing  can  reach  her.  All  my 
notes  come  back  unopened ;  the  last  redirected  by  Mr. 

191 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  AN 

Eggleston  himself.  Neither  he  nor  his  son  has  been 
to  the  office  since  the  settlement.  They  leave  me  to 
sweep  up  after  them — dirty  piece  of  business.  Will 
there  be  any  use  in  your  seeing  Mr.  Eggleston  ?" 

Adam  looked  into  space  for  a  moment. 

He  had  never  met  the  senior.  He  had,  out  of  defer 
ence  to  Phil,  and  contrary  to  his  habitual  custom, 
given  him  preference  over  his  other  sitters,  but  Eggles 
ton  had  not  kept  his  appointment  and  Gregg  had  post 
poned  the  painting  of  the  portrait  until  the  following 
season.  Phil  had  made  excuses,  but  Adam  had  only 
smiled  and  with  the  remark — "Time  enough  next 
winter,"  had  changed  the  subject. 

"No.  Let  a  young  girl  manage  her  own  affairs," 
Adam  answered  in  a  decided  tone,  "especially  a  girl 
like  Madeleine."  He  had  seen  too  much  misery  from 
interfering  with  a  young  girl's  heart. 

"What  do  you  advise  then?" 

"  To  let  the  storm  blow  over,"  Adam  replied  firmly. 

"  But  you've  said  that  for  a  week  and  I  am  no  better 
off.  I  can't  stand  it  much  longer,  Old  Gentleman.  I 
must  see  Madeleine,  I  tell  you.  What  can  you  do  to 
help?  Now — not  to-morrow  or  next  week?" 

"Nothing  that  would  be  wise." 

"  But  you  promised  me  to  go  and  see  her  the  after 
noon  we  went  to  smash." 

"  So  I  did,  and  I'll  go  if  you  wish  me  to." 

"When?" 

"  To-morrow  morning.  It  is  against  my  judgment 
to  do  anything  until  you  hear  from  her.  A  woman  al- 

192 


OLD-FASHIONED  GENTLEMAN 

ways  finds  the  way.  Madeleine  is  no  exception.  She 
loves  you  too  well  not  to.  But  I'll  go,  my  boy,  and 
try." 

"You  must  go.  I  tell  you  I  can't  and  won't  wait. 
I  have  done  nothing  I'm  ashamed  of.  Our  wedding 
is  off,  of  course,  until  I  can  look  around  and  see  what 
I'm  going  to  do,  but  that's  no  reason  why  we  can't  con 
tinue  to  see  each  other." 

The  butler  met  him  with  a  polite  but  decided :  "  Miss 
Eggleston  is  not  receiving." 

"  Take  her  that  card,"  said  Gregg.  "  I'll  wait  here 
for  an  answer." 

The  erect  figure  of  the  painter,  his  perfect  address, 
coupled  with  the  air  of  command  which  always  seemed 
a  part  of  him,  produced  an  instantaneous  curve  in  the 
butler's  spine. 

"  Step  into  the  library,  sir,"  he  said  in  a  softer  tone 
as  he  pushed  aside  the  heavy  portieres  for  Adam  to 
enter. 

Gregg  entered  the  curtain-muffled  room  with  its 
marble  statues,  huge  Sevres  vases  and  ponderous  gold 
frames,  swept  a  glance  over  the  blue  satin  sofas  and 
cumbersome  chairs  in  the  hope  of  finding  Madeleine 
curled  up  somewhere  among  the  heap  of  cushions,  and 
then,  hat  in  hand,  took  up  his  position  in  front  of  the 
cheerless,  freshly  varnished  hearth  to  await  that  young 
lady's  coming.  What  he  would  say  or  how  he  would 
approach  the  subject  nearest  to  his  heart  would  depend 
on  her  mental  attitude.  That  she  loved  Phil  as  dearly 

193 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  AN 

as  he  loved  her  there  was  no  question.  That  she  had 
begun  to  suffer  for  loss  of  him  was  equally  sure.  A 
leaf  from  his  own  past  told  him  that. 

Again  the  butler's  step  was  heard  in  the  hall;  there 
came  a  sound  of  an  opening  door,  and  Mr.  Eggleston 
entered. 

As  he  approached  the  dealer's  description  of  his 
white  hair  and  red  face — a  subject  Franz  Hal  would 
have  loved — came  back  to  the  painter. 

Adam  advanced  to  meet  him  writh  that  perfect  poise 
which  distinguished  him  in  surprises  of  this  kind. 
"Mr.  Eggleston,  is  it  not?" 

"  Yes,  and  whom  have  I  the  pleasure  of  addressing  ?" 
— glancing  at  the  card  in  his  hand. 

"  I  am  Adam  Gregg.  We  were  to  meet  some  time 
ago,  when  I  was  to  paint  your  portrait.  This  time  I 
came  to  see  your  daughter  Madeleine." 

Mr.  Eggleston's  manner  dropped  thermometer-like 
from  the  summer  heat  of  graciousness  to  the  zero  of 
reserve:  the  portrait  was  no  longer  a  pleasant  topic. 
Moreover  he  had  always  believed  that  the  painter  had 
advised  Philip  the  morning  of  his  "  asinine  declina 
tion"  of  the  trust  company's  proposition. 

"  May  I  ask  what  for  ?  "  It  was  a  brutal  way  of  put 
ting  it,  but  the  banker  had  a  brutal  way  of  putting 
things.  Generally  he  confounded  the  person  before 
him  with  the  business  discussed,  venting  upon  him 
all  his  displeasure. 

"To  try  and  have  her  receive  Philip  Colton,  or  at 
least  to  get  her  reason  for  not  doing  so.  It  may  be  that 

194 


OLD-FASHIONED  GENTLEMAN 

it  is  due  to  your  own  objection;  if  so  I  should  like  to 
talk  the  matter  over  with  you." 

"You  are  quite  right,  sir;  I  do  object — object  in  the 
strongest  manner.  I  don't  wish  him  here.  I've  had 
all  I  want  of  Mr.  Colton,  and  so  has  my  daughter." 

"May  I  ask  why?" 

"  I  don't  know  that  it  is  necessary  for  me  to  discuss 
it  with  you,  Mr.  Gregg." 

"I  am  his  closest  friend,  and  have  known  him  ever 
since  he  was  five  years  old." 

"Then  I  positively  decline  to  discuss  it  with  you, 
sir,  for  I  should  certainly  say  something  that  would 
wound  your  feelings.  It  is  purely  a  matter  of  business, 
and  that  you  artists  never  understand.  If  you  will 
excuse  me  I  will  return  to  Mrs.  Eggleston;  she  is  an 
invalid,  as  you  have  no  doubt  heard,  and  I  spend  the 
morning  hour  with  her.  I  must  ask  you  to  excuse 
me,  sir." 

On  his  return  to  his  studio  Gregg  began  to  pace  the 
floor,  his  habit  when  anything  worried  him.  Phil  was 
to  return  at  three  o'clock  and  he  had  nothing  but  bad 
news  for  him.  That  his  visit  had  only  made  matters 
worse  was  too  evident.  Never  in  all  his  life  had  he 
been  treated  with  such  discourtesy.  Eggleston  was  a 
vulgarian  and  a  brute,  but  he  was  Madeleine's  father, 
and  he  could  not  encourage  her  to  defy  him.  He,  of 
course,  wanted  these  two  young  people  to  meet,  but  not 
in  any  clandestine  way.  Her  father,  no  doubt,  would 
soon  see  things  differently,  for  success  was  the  foot-rule 

195 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  AN 

by  which  he  measured  a  man,  and  Phil,  with  his  energy 
and  honesty,  would  gain  this  in  time.  Phil  must  wait. 
Everything  would  come  right  once  the  boy  got  on  his 
legs  again.  The  failure  had  in  every  way  been  an  hon 
est  one.  In  this  connection  he  recalled  the  remark  of 
a  visitor  who  had  dropped  into  the  studio  the  day  be 
fore  and  who  in  discussing  the  failure  had  said  in  the 
crisp  vernacular  of  the  Street:  "Bitten  off  more  than 
they  could  chew,  but  square  as  a  brick."  It  was  an 
expression  new  to  him  but  he  had  caught  its  meaning. 
That  his  fellow-brokers  had  this  opinion  of  Philip 
meant  half  the  battle  won.  Men  who  by  a  lift  of  their 
fingers  lose  or  make  fortunes  in  a  din  that  drowns  their 
voices,  and  who  never  lie  or  crawl,  no  matter  what  the 
consequences,  have  only  contempt  for  a  man  who  hides 
his  wrallet.  "  Hands  out  and  everything  you've  got  on 
the  table,"  is  their  creed.  This  done  their  pockets  are 
wide  open  and  every  hand  raised  to  help  the  other 
fellow  to  his  feet. 

All  these  thoughts  raced  through  Adam's  head  as  he 
continued  to  pace  the  floor.  Now  and  then  he  would 
stop  in  his  walk  and  look  intently  at  some  figure  in  the 
costly  rug  beneath  his  feet,  as  if  the  solution  of  his  prob 
lem  lay  in  its  richly  colored  surface.  Two  questions 
recurred  again  and  again:  What  could  he  do  to  help? 
and  how  could  he  get  hold  of  Madeleine? 

As  the  hours  wore  on  he  became  more  restless. 
Early  that  morning — before  he  had  gone  to  Made 
leine's — his  brush,  spurred  by  his  hopes,  had  worked 
as  if  it  had  been  inspired.  Not  only  had  the  sitter's 

196 


OLD-FASHIONED  GENTLEMAN 

head  been  blocked  in  with  masterly  strokes,  but  with 
such  fulness  and  power  that  few  of  them  need  ever  be 
retouched — a  part  of  his  heart,  in  fact,  had  gone  into 
the  blending  of  every  flesh  tone.  But  it  was  all  over 
now;  his  enthusiasm  and  sureness  had  fled.  In  fact, 
he  had,  on  his  return,  dropped  his  brushes  into  his 
ginger-jar  for  his  servant  to  clean,  and  given  up  paint 
ing  for  the  day. 

Soon  he  began  fussing  about  his  studio,  looking  over 
a  portfolio  for  a  pose  he  needed;  replacing  some  books 
in  his  library;  adding  fresh  water  to  the  roses  that  stood 
under  Olivia's  portrait — gazing  up  into  its  eyes  as  if 
some  help  could  be  found  in  their  depths — his  uneasi 
ness  increasing  every  moment  as  the  hour  of  Phil's  re 
turn  approached. 

At  the  sound  of  a  quick  step  in  the  corridor — how 
well  he  knew  the  young  man's  tread — he  threw  open 
the  door  and  pushed  aside  the  velvet  curtain.  Better 
welcome  the  poor  fellow  with  a  smile  and  a  cheery 
word. 

"Come  in,  Phil!"  he  cried— " Come—  Why,  Made 
leine!" 

She  stood  just  outside  the  door,  a  heavy  brown  veil 
tied  over  her  hat,  her  trim  figure  half  concealed  by  a 
long  cloak.  For  an  instant  she  did  not  speak,  nor  did 
she  move. 

"Yes,  it's  I,  Mr.  Gregg,"  she  sobbed.  "Are  you 
sure  there's  nobody  with  you  ?  Oh,  I'm  so  wretched ! 
I  had  to  come:  Please  let  me  talk  to  you.  Father  told 
me  you  had  been  to  see  me.  He  was  furious  when 

197 


you  went  away,  and  I  know  how  he  must  have  be 
haved  to  you."  She  seemed  completely  prostrated. 
Buoyant  temperaments  pendulate  in  extremes. 

He  had  drawn  her  inside  now,  his  arms  about  her, 
holding  her  erect  as  he  led  her  to  a  seat  with  the  same 
tenderness  of  voice  and  manner  he  would  have  shown 
his  own  daughter. 

"  You  poor,  dear  child ! "  he  cried  at  last.  "  Now  tell 
me  about  it.  You  know  how  I  love  you  both." 

"Oh,  Mr.  Gregg,  it  is  so  dreadful!"  she  moaned 
in  piteous  tone  as  she  sank  upon  the  cushions  of  the 
divan,  Adam  sitting  beside  her,  her  hand  tight  clasped 
in  his  own.  "  I  didn't  think  Phil  would  bring  all  this 
trouble  on  us.  I  would  forgive  him  anything  but  the 
way  in  which  he  deceived  papa.  He  knew  there  was 
no  copper  in  the  mine,  and  he  kept  saying  there  was, 
and  went  right  on  speculating  and  using  up  everything 
they  had,  and  then  when  it  was  all  to  be  found  out  he 
turned  coward  and  ruined  everybody — and  broke  my 
heart!  Oh,  the  cruel — cruel —  "  and  again  she  hid  her 
face  in  the  cushions. 

"  What  would  you  think,  little  girl,  if  I  told  you  that 
I  advised  him  to  do  it?"  he  pleaded  as  he  patted  her 
shoulder  to  quiet  her. 

"You  couldn't  do  it!"  Madeleine  burst  out  in  an  in 
credulous  tone,  raising  herself  on  her  elbow  to  look  the 
better  into  his  eyes.  "You  wouldn't  do  it!  You  are 
too  kind." 

"  But  I  did — as  much  for  your  sake  and  your  father's 
and  brother's  as  for  his  own.  All  the  firm  has  lost  so 

198 


OLD-FASHIONED  GENTLEMAN 

far  is  money.  That  can  be  replaced.  Had  Philip  not 
told  the  truth  it  would  have  been  their  honor.  That 
could  never  h'ave  been  replaced." 

And  then  with  her  hands  fast  in  his,  every  thought 
that  crossed  her  mind  revealed  in  her  sweet,  girlish  face, 
Adam,  his  big,  frank,  brown  eyes  looking  into  hers, 
told  her  the  story  of  Philip's  resolve.  Not  the  part 
which  the  portrait  had  played — not  one  word  of  that. 
She  would  not  have  understood;  then,  too,  that  was 
Phil's  secret,  not  his,  to  tell;  but  the  awakening  of  the 
dormant  nature  of  an  honest  man,  incrusted  with  pre 
cedents  and  half-strangled  in  financial  sophistries,  to 
the  truth  of  what  lay  about  him. 

"You  wouldn't  want  his  lips  to  touch  yours,  my 
child,  if  they  were  stained  with  a  lie;  nor  could  you 
have  worn  your  wedding-gown  if  the  money  that  paid 
for  it  had  been  stolen.  Your  father  will  see  it  in  the 
same  light  some  day.  Then,  if  he  had  a  dozen  daugh 
ters  he  would  give  every  one  of  them  to  men  like 
Philip  Colton.  The  boy  wants  your  help  now;  he  is 
without  a  penny  in  the  world  and  has  all  his  life  to 
begin  over  again.  Now  he  can  begin  it  clean.  Get 
your  arms  around  his  neck  and  tell  him  you  love  him 
and  trust  him.  He  needs  you  more  to-day  than  he 
will  ever  need  you  in  all  his  life." 

She  had  crept  closer  to  him,  nestling  under  his  big 
shoulders.  It  seemed  good  to  touch  him.  Somehow 
there  radiated  from  this  man  a  strength  and  tenderness 
which  she  had  never  known  before :  In  the  tones  of  his 
voice,  in  the  feel  of  his  hand,  in  the  restfulness  that  per- 

199 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  AN 

vaded  his  every  word  and  gesture.  For  the  first  time, 
it  seemed  to  her,  she  realized  what  it  was  to  have  a 
father. 

"And  won't  you  talk  to  papa  again,  Mr.  Gregg?" 
she  pleaded  in  a  more  hopeful  voice. 

"  Yes,  if  you  wish  me  to,  but  it  would  do  no  good— 
not  now.  It  is  not  your  father  this  time,  it's  you. 
Will  you  help  Phil  make  the  fight,  little  girl?  You 
love  him,  don't  you?" 

"Oh,  with  all  my  heart!" 

"  Well,  then,  tell  him  so.  He  will  be  here  in  a  few 
minutes." 

Madeleine  sprang  from  her  seat: 

"No,  I  must  not  see  him,"  she  cried  in  frightened 
tones;  "I  promised  my  father.  I  came  at  this  time 
because  I  knew  he  would  not  be  here.  Let  me  go: 
We  are  having  trouble  enough.  No — please,  Mr. 
Gregg — no,  I  must  go." 

"And  what  shall  I  tell  Phil?"  He  dared  not  per 
suade  her. 

"Tell  him — tell  him — Oh,  Mr.  Gregg,  you  know 
how  I  love  him!" 

She  was  through  the  curtains  and  halfway  down  the 
corridor  before  he  could  reach  the  door.  All  the  light 
had  come  back  to  her  eyes  and  the  spring  to  her 
step. 

Adam  walked  to  the  banisters  and  listened  to  the  pat 
ter  of  her  little  feet  descending  the  stairs  to  the  street. 
Then  he  went  back  into  the  studio  and  drew  the  cur 
tains.  Thank  God,  her  heart  was  all  right. 

200 


OLD-FASHIONED  GENTLEMAN 

Once  more  he  picked  his  brushes  from  the  ginger- 
jar  where  in  his  despair  he  had  thrust  them.  Nothing 
in  the  situation  had  changed.  The  fear  that  Madeleine 
had  lost  her  love  for  Phil  had  never  troubled  him  for 
an  instant.  Women's  hearts  did  not  beat  that  way. 
That  Phil's  future  was  assured  once  he  got  his  feet  un 
der  him  was  also  a  foregone  conclusion.  "What  Mr. 
Eggleston  thought  about  it  was  another  matter,  and 
yet  not  a  serious  one.  He  might  be  ugly  for  a  time — 
would  be — but  that  was  to  be  expected  in  a  man  who 
had  lost  his  special  capital,  a  son-in-law  and  consider 
able  of  his  reputation  at  one  blow.  What  had  evi 
dently  hurt  the  banker  most  was  the  wounding  of  his 
pride.  He  had  always  stood  well  with  Mr.  Stockton — 
must  continue  to  do  so  when  he  realized  how  many  of 
his  other  interests  depended  on  his  good-will  and  the 
trust  company's  assistance.  Phil  had  not  told  Adam 
this  when  he  went  over  the  scene  in  the  office  the 
morning  they  closed  up  the  accounts,  but  Gregg 
had  read  between  the  lines.  The  one  bright  ray 
of  sunshine  was  Madeleine's  refusal  to  break  her 
word  to  her  father.  That  pleased  him  most  of 
all. 

A  knock  at  the  door  interrupted  his  revery.  It  did 
not  sound  like  Phil's,  but  Adam  had  been  deceived 
once  before  and  he  hurried  to  meet  him. 

This  time  a  messenger  stood  outside. 

"A  note  for  Mr.  Adam  Gregg,"  he  said.  "Are  you 
the  man?" 

Adam  receipted  the  slip,  dismissed  the  boy  and 
201 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  AN 

stepped  to  the  middle  of  the  room  under  the  skylight 
to  see  the  better.     It  was  from  Phil. 

"I  cannot  reach  you  until  late.  Have  just  received  a  note  from 
the  Seaboard  Trust  Company  saying  Mr.  Stockton  wants  to  see 
me.  More  trouble  for  P.  C.  &  Co.,  I  guess.  Hope  for  good  news 
from  Madeleine." 

This  last  rote  filled  his  mind  with  a  certain  unde 
fined  uneasiness.  What  fresh  trouble  had  arisen  ? 
Had  some  other  securities  on  which  money  had  been 
loaned — made  prior  to  Phil's  awakening — been  found 
wanting  in  value?  He  hoped  the  boy's  past  wasn't 
going  to  hurt  him. 

With  this  new  anxiety  filling  his  mind  he  laid  down 
his  brushes — he  had  not  yet  touched  his  canvas — put 
on  his  hat  and  strode  out  into  the  street.  A  breath  of 
fresh  air  would  clear  his  head — it  always  did. 

For  two  hours  he  walked  the  pavements — up 
through  the  Park;  out  along  the  edge  of  the  river  and 
back  again.  With  every  step  there  came  to  him  the 
realization  of  the  parallels  existing  between  his  own 
life's  romance  and  that  of  Philip's.  Some  of  these 
were  mere  creations  of  his  brain;  others — especially 
those  which  ended  in  the  sacrifice  of  a  man's  career  for 
what  he  considered  to  be  right — had  a  certain  basis 
of  fact.  Then  a  shiver  crept  over  him:  For  honor  he 
had  lost  the  woman  he  loved:  Was  Phil  to  tread  the 
same  weary  path  and  for  the  same  cause  ?  And  if  fate 
should  be  thus  cruel  would  he  and  Madeleine  forget 
in  time  and  lead  their  lives  anew  and  apart,  or  would 
their  souls  cry  out  in  anguish  as  his  had  done  all  these 

202 


OLD-FASHIONED  GENTLEMAN 

years,  each  day  bringing  a  new  longing  and  each  day 
a  new  pain :  he  in  all  the  vigor  of  his  manhood  and  the 
full  flower  of  his  accomplishment  and  still  alone  and 
desolate. 

With  these  reflections,  none  of  them  logical — but  all 
showing  the  perturbed  condition  of  his  mind  and  his 
anxiety  for  those  he  loved,  he  mounted  the  stairs  of  the 
building  and  pushed  open  the  door  of  his  studio. 

It  had  grown  quite  dark  and  the  studio  was  filled 
with  shadows.  As  he  crossed  to  the  mantel — he  rarely 
entered  the  room  without  pausing  for  a  moment  in 
front  of  the  portrait — Olivia's  face,  with  that  strange, 
wan  expression  which  the  fading  light  always  brought 
to  view,  seemed  to  stand  out  from  the  frame  as  if  in 
appeal,  a  discovery  that  brought  a  further  sinking  of 
the  heart  to  his  already  overburdened  spirit. 

With  a  quick  movement,  as  if  dreading  the  power  of 
prolonged  darkness,  he  struck  a  match  and  flashed  up 
the  circle  of  gas  jets,  flooding  the  studio  with  light. 

Suddenly  he  stopped  and  swept  his  eyes  rapidly 
around  the  room.  Some  one  beside  himself  was  pres 
ent.  He  had  caught  the  sound  of  a  slight  movement 
and  the  murmur  of  whispering  voices.  Then  a  low, 
rippling  laugh  fell  upon  his  ears — the  notes  of  a  bird 
singing  in  the  dark,  and  the  next  instant  Madeleine 
sprang  from  behind  a  screen  where  she  had  been  hid 
ing  and  threw  her  arms  around  his  neck. 

"Guess!"  she  cried,  pressing  his  ruddy  cheeks, 
fresh  from  his  walk,  between  her  tiny  palms.  "  Guess 
what's  happened!  Quick!" 

203 


The  revulsion  was  so  great  that  for  the  moment  he 
lost  his  breath. 

"  No !  you  couldn't  guess !  Nobody  could.  Oh,  I'm 
so  happy!  Father's — made — it — up — with — Phil!" 

"  Made  it  up!     How  do  you  know  ? "  he  stammered. 

"Phil's  just  left  him.     Come  out,  Phil!" 

Phil's  head  now  peered  from  behind  the  screen. 

"What  do  you  think  of  that,  Old  Gentleman?"  he 
cried,  clasping  Adam's  outstretched  hand. 

"And  there  isn't  any  trouble,  Phil,  over  Mr.  Stock 
ton's  note?"  exclaimed  Gregg  in  a  joyous  but  baffled 
tone  of  voice:  he  was  still  completely  at  sea  over  the 
situation. 

"Trouble  over  what?"  asked  Phil,  equally  mys 
tified. 

"That's  what  I  want  to  know.  You  wrote  me  that 
it  meant  more  trouble  for  your  firm." 

"  Yes,  but  that  was  before  I  had  seen  Mr.  Stockton. 
Then  I  ran  across  Mr.  Eggleston  just  as  he  was  com 
ing  out  of  the  trust  company,  and  he  sent  me  to  Made 
leine — and  we  couldn't  get  here  quick  enough.  She 
beat  me  running  up  your  stairs.  Hasn't  she  told  you  ? 
And  you  don't  know  about  Stockton's  letter?  No! 
Why,  he  has  offered  me  the  position  of  head  of 
the  bond  department  of  the  trust  company  at  a  sal 
ary  of  ten  thousand  a  year,  and  I  go  to  work  to 
morrow!  Here's  his  letter.  Let  me  read  you  the 
last  clause:" 

"No,  let  me,"  cried  Madeleine,  reaching  for  the 
envelope. 

204 


"  It  is  all  her  doing,  Phil." 


OLD-FASHIONED  GENTLEMAN 

"No— I'll  read  it,"  begged  Phil. 

"No,  you  won't!  I'll  read  it  myself!"  burst  out 
Madeleine,  catching  the  letter  from  Phil's  hand  and 
whirling  around  the  room  in  her  glee.  "  Listen :  '  The 
Trust  Company  needs  men  like  you,  Mr.  Colton,  and 
so  does  the  Street!'  Isn't  that  lovely?" 

"And  that's  not  all,  Old  Gentleman!"  shouted  Phil. 
"We  are  going  to  be  married  in  a  month.  What  do 
you  think  of  that!" 

"And  Mr.  Eggleston  is  willing!" 

"Witting!  Why,  you  don't  think  he  would  offend 
Mr.  Stockton,  do  you?" 

Gregg  had  them  in  his  arms  now — Madeleine  a  bun 
dle  of  joyous  laughter;  Phil  radiant,  self-contained, 
determined. 

For  a  brief  moment  the  three  stood  silent.  A  hush 
came  over  them.  Adam's  head  was  bent,  his  forehead 
almost  touching  Phil's  shoulder,  a  prayer  trembling  on 
his  lips.  Then  with  a  sudden  movement  he  led  them 
to  the  portrait,  and  in  an  exultant  tone,  through  which 
an  unbidden  sob  fought  its  way,  he  cried: 

"Look  up,  my  children — up  into  your  mother's 
face.  See  the  joy  in  her  eyes!  It  is  all  her  doing, 
Phil." 

"  Oh !  my  beloved,  now  you  know." 

The  picture  has  never  been  taken  from  Gregg's 
studio.  It  still  keeps  its  place  over  the  mantel.  There 
is  rarely  a  day  that  one  of  the  three  does  not  place 
flowers  beneath  it;  sometimes  Madeleine  and  Phil  ar- 

205 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED  GENTLEMAN 

range  them;  sometimes  Adam;  and  sometimes  little 
blue-eyed,  golden-haired  Olivia  is  lifted  up  in  Gregg's 
strong  arms  so  that  she  may  fill  the  jar  with  her  own 
wee  hands. 

THE  END 


206 


A    000817903- 


